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memory
Slender blue palm trees sway in the musky wind, as oil of vetiver stirs under a canopy of white flowers. Swallows wildly sweep across the leather, skimming over the ground. They follow an apogee of iris, beneath a shower of ylang-ylang. Fragrances waft through the tiny streets offering a glimpse of orange trees blooming through the ramparts. A burnous cloak of amaranthus makes its way along a path of pepper and ginger to the medina gates, where cypresses stand guard before the exquisite ogival arches and arabesque doorways. An indigo city, an imperial city, an ancient city looms like a mirage of leathery iris: Moroccan Leather.
