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While we wandered in Italy in June, from Asti to Florence, Siena to Perugia, Assisi to Genoa, and points in between, everywhere we went I was ever more conscious of the crowds, the hardy hordes, the proud prides of lions stalking us, trailing us, stealthily prowling after us, growling even in my dreams at night. They were royal, commanding, dignified even in the advanced state of decay that some had succumbed to over the centuries since their various sculptors patiently carved them from blocks of stone or marble. Some seemed to smile benevolently while others scowled and frowned with haughty scorn at a mere human who would dare to approach to photograph them. They adorned all manner of public buildings, churches, monasteries, and fountains, even the interior of cathedrals. One would think that Italy was once teeming with these regal beasts, though the only live ones there today are in zoos or a travelling circus or two. I would venture to bet that there are far more stone lions than live ones there today. Even in Africa their population is dwindling. One day we may have only these stone beasts to remind us of what once was. While you consider these photographs and the future fate of these tawny beasts, there is a piece of music which could accompany this visual memorial to the Panthera Leo, to quote the Latin name. And believe it or not, this is not by any means all the lions we saw on our travels.
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