An ancient Sicilian village provides the backdrop to the slow daily life of its inhabitants. The salt-laden wind blows from the nearby coast and stirs the fallen leaves, the fine earth of the fields and the ancient cobblestones that paved the streets of that small village. Pepita Misuraca, with nostalgic and deeply pleasant writing, immortalizes men and women in their habits, in their context shaded by Mediterranean scrubland. At times she stops to chat with them as if to glean more from them, at others she simply recounts their stories, but always with an extremely affectionate gaze. Thus, within the pages of a small book, vivid memories come back to life, like a photographic impression, the places of the Sicilian countryside with the contrasts of light and the melodic qualities of the rural culture in which Pepita found herself living from 1920 and in which her imagination took shape, but also other places like Africa where Pepita also lived. Turning the pages, one finds oneself transported to lands where the characters flow as in an album where the snapshots proceed, one after another, bringing with them stories, traditions, ways of understanding life belonging to a time thinned in memory, which reappears in the form of private history, details, in which it becomes impossible not to participate with the same feeling of affection and nostalgia as the protagonist, right to the end.