There are some things you could look at forever; Isola dei Pescatori floating in the glittering waters of Lago Maggiore – that’s one of them.  
 
It is the height of summer and your thinnest cotton shirt is proving useless against the heavy heat. You are late for your train, and a sprint across the platform at Milano Centrale earns you a vital second before the train doors snap shut. But now all is bliss; the train cuts through the countryside of Lombardy until the green surrenders to brilliant blue. You get off at Stresa, where the mountains fringe the edges of your vision and a cool breeze accompanies the lake crossing. In the shady gardens of Palazzo Borromeo, you look across the water into a long-passed age of proportion and good manners. 
 
Perhaps someone is charming like the rustic island; perhaps they have a manner like the lacustrine clime, mild in winter, mild in summer; perhaps you have a friend who has recently taken up fishing: write them a letter.