It was the end of the world. Streaked of radiant raging red that swirled and boiled the sky had turned from indigo night to the roof of hell, the hills were on fire. From the last street in town and across the vineyards where the Jurupa Hills climbed up from the inland basin they burned. For as far as I could see from the west off into the darkest blanket of night that was the east there was fire.
The entire neighborhood had turned out to line Jurupa Avenue to watch, and even more people were coming in cars from the center of town. It was oddly quite. Kids sat on their fathers shoulders, teenage girls leaned on the flaring finned fenders of cars, boys stood with bikes between there legs, and all looking south at the savage spectacle that was the great wild fire of that summer.
No one was up there in the flames, not even the firemen from three of the nearest towns. There was nothing to do as the great Santa Anna winds drove the fire up towards the summit but let it burn out. I had never seen a California wild fire before, the only way I could comprehend the mass and savagery of it was to see it as a movie. As the fire reached the top I could see in the flames flagellated by the winds lick the walls of Troy, A city burned for the love of a woman. The wind shifted and pushed hard up and over the exposed rocks near the top causing the flames to shoot into the sky and the image before my ten year old eyes changed to the burning of the railroad yards as Atlanta by Sherman. The dancing sheets of fire raged and the billowing smoke rose so high and then spread out across the arc of heaven like the plume of Vesuvius in 79 A.D. Yes it was the end of the world.
Then there was the smell, the sage and the short tough gold grass that came from Spain with the Spanish to California and what ever else grew on those hills were consumed that night. When they died in the flames they created an incense that infused everything including my brain for days after the great conflagration of the summer of 1959. I haven’t thought of that fire or that smell for years, that is until I smelled la collection couturier Parfumeur Leather Oud Dior. The burning hills came up from the ashes of my mind the moment it touched my skin.
House of Dior 30 Avenue Montaigne Paris
Leather Oud opens with Cardamom, sharp vetiver, rich birch, sandal wood and sumptuous patchouli. Somehow for me this combination of notes by perfumer Francois Demachy sparks the fires of my memory. The heart of the fragrance is built on cloves and honey and the woody Amyris flower, Virginia Cedar finds a home here in the warm heart of the fragrance along with amber and lush labdanum from France. The heart of the fragrance is banked in the glowing embers which are created by Oud from Indonesia, civet, and a very refined fine and supple leather.
The fragrance has depth and longevity. It enters a room with you not ahead of you and lingers lightly in passing. The lasting impression stays on my skin a good six hours. Brilliantly blended from the finest source ingredients the house of Dior under its perfumer Demachy has a smoky mysteriously dangerous winner in Leather Oud. This is a great fragrance for a man of commanding presence and style. Pervasively masculine without being overtly aggressive it would also work very well on the skin of a woman. Who knows what conflagrations that combination of Woman and this Dior masterpiece might ignite?
LEATHER OUD LA COLLECTION PRIVÉE BY DIOR ~ FIVE PLATINUM STARS *****