The daylight gently fading, we chose another direction and followed a path which led to a broad pool. The trees surrounding the water were beginning to show their autumn colors in a gracious display of yellows and reds, an arboreal sunset.

We settled down on a bench, and savored the serenity. A few people strolled quietly by, careful to preserve the peaceful mood.

The birds were in the midst of a subdued evening serenade, unseen in the trees above. What a remedy to an overdose of fine art, with all its attendant emotions!

Boboli Birdsong (1:12)

I could have gladly stayed on that bench until the light had completely drained from the sky, and watched the stars emerge in the reflections of the pool. But that was not to be.

Abruptly, an amplified voice boomed out from all directions at once. "The Garden is Closing! Please Proceed to the Nearest Exit!" This was followed by the same message in translation: Italian, French, German, Spanish.

The loudspeakers, unnoticed until this moment, bellowed out relentlessly, repeating their message every thirty seconds. Stern and authoritative as a schoolmarm who had just run out of her last ounce of patience, it continued hounding us until finally we were driven out of Paradise.

Next: A Visit to David's House