Between hidden streets and noble homes, between masculi and fimmine, and between jasmine, bergamot and almond trees, u picciriddu walks around boldly, like a puppet! Picciriddu is how we call the child of our land, with a thoughtless and proud face, shiny and lively eyes… everyone stops to look at him “Ma chi si bieddu… ma che ciavuro!” To the children, Picciriddu is the smell of the sun, the see and the earth, fresh and delicates, of old memories