The sky above Havana

Back in Cuba. This time, however, from the faint sunset covered with gray clouds a cloak of ash seems to descend, enveloping everything. The buildings, the half-empty street, the slender street lamps, the equestrian statue in the distance that stands alone in the grayness, mindful of ancient promises of glory. The Ford Fairlane runs motionless toward a future frozen in the decades, and perhaps it would like to ask the changing clouds for the secret of such winged freedom.