Brother and sister. They can't be anything but. The boy draws my attention because he is squealing at his companion. His words are a tangled excitement of Andaluz... he's scolding her for being a devil and a nuisance. She's laughing. He's doing it in that beautiful way that only children can; the same voice they use when they look up at you, full of hope, and say, "Hi. I'm not ticklish. Please don't chase me!" and run off with a giggle.
He yells at her again, "Don't do it! Stop it!" and falls about laughing as she bends down to scoop up an orange from the floor, ready to launch it at him once more.
I pass by to the sound of their laughter. This is their kingdom. I notice how the tiny tiles which line the streets of Seville are scattered with shattered fruit. Perhaps it doesn't fall from the trees with such force after all.
He yells at her again, "Don't do it! Stop it!" and falls about laughing as she bends down to scoop up an orange from the floor, ready to launch it at him once more.
I pass by to the sound of their laughter. This is their kingdom. I notice how the tiny tiles which line the streets of Seville are scattered with shattered fruit. Perhaps it doesn't fall from the trees with such force after all.
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