Agua de Colonia Concentrada Alvarez Gómez 1912

Sometimes it doesn't take many words.
When breathing is synonymous with enjoying, with a desire for more liberating silence, for being one and arrived - at least for the moment.
Closed eyelids and in my mind a sea of warmth, of friendly-bright light and an air of silky smoothness.
No more thought that outside gray is reigning, that the thermometer is falling freely.
Completely forgotten, completely indifferent after this first breath, after this inhalation of air and scent that steals me away from the here, from the now.

Relaxed, colorful hustle and bustle at the market in Dénia, in front of me a mountain of lemons, just two hours ago still on the tree.
A sharp blade flashes briefly before it slices the fruit - a juicy-sweet scent escapes from the sun-soaked yellow, not a bit sour or biting.
From today on, lemons are sweet.
Five minutes later, the Montgó crunches under my step, small stones roll down behind me.
Dry-wild herbs, closely crouched against slate gray, the last rain was weeks ago.
Far below me the dark blue of the sea, on my skin a film of sweat, in it the white musk scent of soap.
Insects stagger in the bright midday light.
The wind brings me the herbal cool green of the trees, which stand resinous at the foot of the mountain, and mixes with it the honey-herb lavender, the dust of the paths, the soft rosemary.

Sometimes it doesn't take many words, sometimes happiness is a scent, a breath, a gesture, a distant vanishing point too.
"Agua de Colonia Concentrada" beams me into the hinterland of the Costa Blanca, to where Goethe's golden oranges glow, awakening longing, homesickness and "home!" too.
Soon, I think, it will be time to fly...