I just got some email from Harley Jane Kozak. Harley and family live down in southern California where there are raging fires. I'm so dopey about where things are down there, it hadn't occured to me to track stuff.

Harley's email said in part that things didn't smell too great when the wind blew, and that there was a layer of ash falling (sounded like old stories here of the eruption of Mt St Thingy) and I really started reflecting on all the nastiness eveyrone's been dealing with - From wet friends to dry, floods to fires - and came up with this. It doesn't make too much sense - help is certainly welcome.

And may the ghost of sainted Dorothy Parker not visit me tonight.

Résumé

Fires pain you;
Floodwaters are damp;
Moldy walls stain you;
And tornados cause cramp.
Duststorms aren't lawful;
Hurricanes give;
Ash smells awful;
You might as well live.

But then I read a recent email to Stu, who's a Sherlockian, as "A Sandal in Bohemia". I don't DARE go THERE.