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 brief and heartfelt chronicle will be this time for you, Holguin.