Fiction · Journal · Travel · Travel Writing · Uncategorized · writing

The Fellowship of Milan | I

Look who’s back from the dead…! Well, mostly, at least.

I’ll be dedicating more time to writing on here again and getting back into the habit of doing so as frequently as I can!

And what better way to kick that off with an exert from some travel writing I’ve been working on?

There we stood, in front of the world’s largest Cathedral, feeling incredibly small. Now, I am not religious in the way that these people would have been to build this beauty of a structure, but I certainly felt as if something was there. Difficult to describe, and even more difficult to tell my companions, I left these thoughts at the monstrous doors and made my way inside.

The Duomo in Milan was simply a masterpiece. Thinking that people had built this construct with no more than sheer manpower and belief truly astonished me. The arches that held it aloft inside, carved of the same pristine alabaster as its façade, were pieces of art. Each one had figures and faces and Latin phrases carved into it.

Epphetha, Epphetha.

Ipsa duce.

Gratias agere.

And that is only naming a few of them. The cathedral’s age seemed to be of no object, because the carvings were as clear as the day that the workers undoubtedly hand-carved them. Now, I was no stranger to the restoration work that had been happening here for a good number of years (it was easy to see with the odd scaffold here and there), but even without restoration precautions… it fascinated me that such elegance could be carved into such a coarse substance.

The various domed conclaves between the arches were lavishly painted with scenes that even I was familiar with; Christ’s crucifixion, the offering of the forbidden fruit, the Judgement of Solomon. It amazed me how such graphic details were permitted to be painted in such an ever-lasting fashion considering the Catholic code. That being said, I was far from an expert, and the artwork was breath-taking.

Who was I to be uncomfortable at a great deal of exposed breasts?

Underneath this canopy of masterful craftsmanship, every inch of the huge flagstones were perfectly hewn and equal in size. A series of worn wooden benches held candles, alight with prayer.

We were experimenting with fictional liberties that we can take in travel writing, and I started recounting my journey to Milan from last year.

I’ll keep this going in episodic releases! They won’t be in chronological sequence, essentially, but will piece together my journey regardless.


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