I have been living in a cozy little town in Upper Franconia (Bavaria) for a year now.
The area is also called God's garden, and you can take that literally.
The landscape captivated me immediately and fascinated me from the moment of the first apartment viewing. The view from my balcony is magnificent and is always admired by my visitors.
Vierzehnheiligen, a very famous pilgrimage site with one of the most beautiful Baroque churches, the Staffelberg, where Celts lived in the most picturesque landscape 4000 years before our era, lies like a platter before me. I have experienced all four seasons here. Right now, autumn is presenting its colorful spectacle, and every day I marvel at and enjoy this beautiful place.
There is something special; the cemetery is in my immediate neighborhood. It is no more than 20 meters from the house I live in, and I can look directly into it from my apartment on the second floor. The cemetery is only truly peaceful at night; during the day, there are often many busy visitors tending to their graves. To me, it feels more sterile than in a hospital.
Tonight is Halloween, the night of the undead. Commercial, spiritual, and silly, it doesn't matter; we have adopted it from the U.S.A.
On TV, there is a movie with Nicolas Cage, "The Last Templar," a wonderfully creepy story, and I thought, today I want to really get into the Halloween spirit. Which scent from my collection would be best suited for a Halloween fragrance? What shall it be, hmm???
I opened the living room door and stepped onto my balcony to catch some fresh air.
It felt like I was in a theater, with the stage before me, where the crescent moon hung, slightly veiled by mist. I felt the damp, fresh, not really cold, almost November air. Across from me was the deserted cemetery with its many red lights, the melting silhouettes in the distance, and my two cats, one relaxed on the garden chair, the other sitting in the hanging flower box, framed by still blooming pink carnations, perhaps admiring the moon.
Then I spontaneously thought of "MIYAKO" by ANNAYAKE. It hadn't been used for a long time because I wasn't emotionally ready for it. I couldn't establish a connection with it, even though I found it exciting and unique.
Searched, searched, almost found it right away, and not sparingly sprayed, it was just the right one.
A powerful wave of incense enveloped me instantly and catapulted me into another dimension.
I find myself in a large, old, very old, very cold, Gothic church, the darkness illuminated only by a few candles. My footsteps echo loudly on the ancient square stone floor, and I am alone.
In front hangs a large, unadorned cross from the ceiling, shadows flit through the vast space, and the candles flicker in the draft.
The air smells very old and sacred; it is not just the incense; it is the past and the transitory.
Over the centuries, the church has had thousands of visitors who came for various reasons: to unburden themselves, to find hope, to pray and ask, to seek answers, to avoid despair, to marry, and much more.
There were joyful occasions and sad ones. The beautiful, atmospheric Christmas masses, with devout, cheerful people in their best attire. At home, the fire burned in the fireplace, and the scent of wood fire, gingerbread, and the new rose perfume found its way into the church.
I need to spray again; "MIYAKO" is now very gentle and quiet, as if the fireplace is slowly going out, but it still glows and is subtly perceptible. My nose keeps wandering to my wrist; I have never smelled it like this before.
I couldn't stand it every day; it demands me, I have to adjust to it, and I don't always want to do that. It's similar with the church; I rarely feel the need to visit such places, but I still find them fascinating.