A Romantic Send-Off

Two days ago in London the sky was a burnt sienna-color; many outlets called it “Martian,” which is not inaccurate.

“What’s the weather like by you now?” my husband texted me from work.  “My colleague says the sky is yellow because it’s Saharan dust.”

“Apocalyptic,” wrote a friend from her houseboat in Tottenham Hale.  When I said it was allegedly Saharan dust, she responded, “Yes, and Iberian fire!”

Apparently Ophelia, that dark strumpet, had kicked up Saharan dust and Iberian fire and colored the skies here an eerie yellow-red haze.  Don’t you think “Ophelian Sky” is a good name for a musk-y perfume––or maybe “Saharan Dust” and “Iberian Fire” could be the latest in the Dior Homme range?

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