At the beginning of May, the city is flooded by locals and outsiders, with the falcons at the head always ready to be seen. To the sound of endless bands and charangas playing Moorish marches, people are carried away by joy. Moments of hugs, wine, horses and flowers, and the knowledge that life will return to its course.
The streets take me to where the hubbub is just an echo of the celebration: a young boy leans on a chipped wall, a flag hangs on a balcony and someone raises a glass to the sun. Ingredients from a place as common as the patron saint festivities in Spain, but in Fuchina they're a backdrop to focus on the silence that's also found in them.