Somewhere on a red dirt road flanked by corrugated tin lean - tos painted blue / green like a sea that is nowhere to be found, by waxy green leaves of false banana trees and round huts the same color as the ground, miles every day she walks in rubber flip flops toward the well and back again,
red kerchief over her braids, carrying a burden of water, dreaming a shared dream.
Given, now, a handsome señorita, with fine oval face and large, soft eyes, and broad, low brow and a strain of pure Castilian blood, to show
red - warm through olive cheeks, a white
kerchief over her bosom, and a glimpse of amber or gold beads about her throat, and the low, gray, wide - roofed adobe, scarlet - hued with festoons of
red peppers, the whole seen against the burnt umber or yellow of the hills and under the pearly haze of a morning in September, and you have a grouping of such splendid color as would delight the heart of a painter.