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Marieposa
Top Review
46
A week full of winter daffodils
Dreams,
brown-haired girl,
dream deeply.
And when you wake,
do not reveal your secret.
"Valerie, be careful," the night whispered over her drowsy breath, but the thief had already vanished like the glow of the tangerine-gold evening sun. Now greenish light fell through the glass skylights and the memory of the stranger's presence hovered in the room, a slightly bitter hint of neroli. Shivering, Valerie wrapped her fine shawl with the embroidered jasmine stars around her sleep-warm shoulders. Her rest was gone, just like the white gold earrings with the daffodil blossoms, and she followed the thief's tracks in the moonlight.
Where had the orange tree in the garden disappeared to, its branches bending equally under the weight of ripe fruit and sweet blossoms, and what had caused the chickens in the small wooden shed at the end of the courtyard to get into such a commotion?
Valerie's world had loosened a little from its moorings. She was drawn into an ambrette-like veil of dreams, and even as she closed her eyes over the flickering kerosene lamp in her hands to see if the moths with their petal-white wings were still dancing around the flame, the jewels glittered again on her earlobes, as if she could drink moonlight from the calyxes until the golden day awoke. For now the colors fell so bright and friendly on a world of astonishing images, a little supernaturally washed out by the backlight, barely noticeably exaggerated.
So it was that the garnet-red sparkle of honey on the beguiling white daffodils in the beds, but also the clay-sweet grimace of the polecat, left her sleepwalking in amazement and not frightened at the beginning of this week full of wonders.
**
Daffodils are flowers that only have a floral scent up to a certain point. At a distance, the blossoms smell just as pure and April-like as one would expect when looking at the silky white petals, but if you venture closer with your nose, they quickly reveal an unexpected dark depth of astonishing complexity, which is of course even more concentrated and evident in the narcissus absolute rarely used in perfume. There are leather notes, facets of light tobacco and hay-like accents of a beguilingly moist warmth, the worldly aspect of which is additionally supported by the indoles, similar to tuberose. This creates an impression of warm skin without having to strain your imagination. There is a beating pulse, a few rumpled sheets, gentle breathing - and it is precisely this intimacy of the poet's narcissus that Annette Neuffer combines with other ingredients in a very light-footed way, creating a surreal, kaleidoscopic sequence of dream images that constantly reassemble themselves.
At the beginning, galbanum and neroli bathe the world in green, only to be slowly sweetened by a ripe mandarin. Even here, the daffodils flash up again and again, sometimes accompanied by orange blossom, sometimes by jasmine, without the vibrant green from the top note disappearing completely. What exactly I perceive in this phase of the fragrance, when and in what intensity, varies greatly and amazes me anew every time I wear the fragrance. Everything is bright and delicate and light, a dance between sleep and wakefulness of almost painful beauty that makes it almost impossible to distinguish one from the other. But perhaps the difference doesn't really matter.
Then comes the point at which I observe with fascination how the narcissus outshines the other flowers - some days more strongly than others supported by tonka bean - and allows all the wonderful facets I described at the beginning to shine. A fragrance like a poetic fairy tale, in which potentially disturbing elements (in my case the tonka bean) amaze and fascinate rather than frighten, and which makes me involuntarily think of "Valerie - A Week of Wonders", a poetic-surreal horror tale, subtly translated into a beguiling flood of images by Czech director Jaromil Jireš.
Towards the base, the fragrance becomes warmer and warmer, a tiny drop of honey supports the sweet facets, in the background the finest threads of smoke meander through the flowers like vanilla sandalwood incense sticks and a barely perceptible hint of patchouli grounds the fragrance. This development ensures that I actually prefer Narcissus Poeticus, which can easily be worn all year round, every day, for every occasion and always wonderfully, in winter when it is dark and I long for green shoots in the flower beds, for cool spring sunshine, but also for a little sweet warmth.
Dear Indolic, I will savor every drop and thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Top Notes 
Heart Notes 
Base Notes 
Rachelg
