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There
is the tambourine music, everytime and everywhere, in the farmyards, in the
squares, in the alleys and in the grounds. The music of tarantula that charms
everything. A music that heals and soothes and does not spare anybody. An idle
music for the holidays, but in summer, when the sun dazes the cicadas, it
becomes a whirl, a frantic dance, a vortex that swallows everything. And you
dance and dance under the moonlight while the “little gypsies” are going
with the wind and the skin of the tambourine flays the hands.
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