Living in Fiesole, I had the privilege of hiking in the forest where Leonardo da Vinci used to hike, his apprentice carrying some complex feat of imagination, painstakingly crafted from wood and cloth. Making my way through dense thickets of cypress trees to cliffs that revealed a breathtaking panorama of Florence, I could almost feel the presence of the man said to be too much of a genius ever to love another human. I could also imagine his dutiful apprentice, struggling to keep up with Leonardo as he charged through the trees, blazing his own trail, as it were. As I reached the end of the trail to Piazza Leonardo, I imagined the two figures next to me, staring out at the city as it once was, before the red tile roofs became littered with antennas and great streets had been built for the buzzing traffic. I planted my feet firmly on the ground, I exhaled, and I watched Leonardo push the young man straight off the cliff.