In Cuba I had the joy of living for seven years in Holguin. In the twilight of my memories, Holguín´s dog days mornings and winter will always shine brightly: with feelings as though every inch of this city tattooed my soul. I return to her after five years of retracing the southern roads. A rain shower in time to the luminous sunrays plays around my look and the wonderful becomes beautiful: rain and sunshine. There, in a little corner of my memory, I keep a postcard of Holguín. A powerful image that is blurred and recomposed, now that I see it again. This is how memory works: at the beginning nothing is in place, but it is enough to adjust your breathing with your walking and everything rises as before. So a surly street, different, unveils a silhouette similar to mine, singing, whispering, on any given night, inhaling life and exhaling song and lyre, bohemianism and farewells...my brief and heartfelt chronicle will be this time for you, Holguin.