Hora Fugit Atelier Flou 2017

When asked about the meaning of life, a wise older lady once told me that she wished that when she lay on her deathbed, all the mosaic pieces of life would somehow come together to form a complete picture. It could very well be painted in an impressionistic, colorful way. For me, this is a very positive attitude towards life, as it assumes that one mindfully recognizes the multitude of beautiful moments, consciously experiences them, and collects them in a seemingly chaotic mosaic, not expecting a deeper meaning at first.
The name "Hora Fugit," meaning "Time Flees," seems to approach this theme from a different, more admonitory angle, in the sense of: "Make something of it!" (Taurus1967 has already mentioned the full quote below, in the sense of "Let actions follow!") Whether one makes oneself immortal through actions and thus gives life a meaning, or whether one sees the journey as the goal (or both), is left to each individual; one should not let time pass unused, as the Latin proverb reminds us.
What role does the scent "Hora Fugit" play in the colorful mosaic of olfactory moments of life? A good one, although not particularly dazzling or extraordinary. First, there is the promise of protection and victory, the greenish fresh laurel, which initially vivifies the sweet-medical resins of benzoin, the character of this scent, childishly impetuous. After the first minutes have run away, earthy patchouli and sharp-green vetiver remind one of natural initiations; however, these only slightly overshadow the woods that are outlined beneath, seeming to hinder each other rather than logically support each other's development. Nonchalantly, juvenile and carefree lavender smiles between the grasses, but neither now nor later is there any smoking; perhaps one smoked in the past, but nowadays...
Another hour slips away before the wooden paths lay like first trails over the green landscape, already somewhat worn, rather covering the old than setting fresh impulses. Perhaps the freshness of the cedar has already left with the grasses, the sandalwood has drowned in the benzoin, and the leather jacket has been forgotten somewhere on the ground. Thus, it is the warm, sweet resin that determines the remaining path, slowly blessing the temporal, creating empty spaces for newness after about six hours.
So "Hora Fugit," as mentioned, remains a small mosaic piece that does not set any accents, that fits in well somewhere, but does not count among the great moments. One can certainly enjoy it nonetheless!

(With thanks to Ergoproxy)