I've barely taken a dent out of Florence, the city I have wanted to visit for years but I have to write this down now before I forget.

When I was growing up, my mother owned a small copy of Michelangelo's David that sat in our living room, and later her office. I remember wondering more than once why there was a naked statue in our house (I also wondered about the topless African statue). At some point, when I was older I assume, my mother began attempting to make me understand why the statue was special. In many ways, that statue was my earliest introduction to art appreciation. Ironic, considering how little I appreciated it.

Even when I was older, I couldn't figure out what was special about this statue. It is, really, just a naked man. There are many many statues of naked men out there. When I took art history, and was forced to study the details: facial expression etc, I appreciated it a little more but was in doubt of its status as the most famous statue. Still, I figured I should see it.

So I stood in line for 90 minutes today, having forgotten to make a reservation. I didn't visit the statue right away, visiting one of the painting galleries first. Then I stepped out into a hallway and there he was. At the end of a hall of unfinished statues stood a very large, naked man. And I have to admit, it took my breath away. As I walked down the hall towards it, it got bigger, and more impressive. And then I was standing in front of this great, imposing piece, just staring in awe.

I'm still not sure why it is so impressive. It just is. There is something about the statue that resonates. It's not just its size. It's something intangible.