Top Notes 
Green tea
Bergamot
Soy bean
Lily of the valley
Heart Notes 
Peony
Violet leaf absolute
Orris concrete
Base Notes 
Cedarwood
Ambrette seed absolute
Cashmere wood
Vetiver
Helena1411
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Helena1411
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17
Spring in July
The air shimmers. A scorching sun transforms everything into blinding heat, relentlessly sending ray after ray, as if to prove to everything and everyone the boundless energy within it. Perceptions blur, glowing-hot optical illusions flicker across the landscape.
And it makes its way. Slowly and steadily, without pause, albeit laboriously. The heat is its domain, its field of existence. And yet, its progress is also an extraordinary effort for it, costing all its endurance as it feels like it might evaporate on the spot under the sun, which resembles a fireball, and disappear into nothingness forever.
And so it does not give up, practically rolling forward piece by piece, unwilling to surrender this battle.
In its iron concentration, determined to reach its goal at any cost, an utterly unexpected and even more inappropriate thought of spring suddenly sneaks in.
Green is the very first thought that comes to mind. Why on earth green? Rather, it would be the association with yellow, perhaps a bright orange-yellow, or considering the parched, water-hungry landscape, even ochre-brown-yellow. Why green? And at the same time, there is a scent of grass in the air, grassy grass, green grass. Damp and somewhat earthy. And at the same time fresh. Similar to the smell of fresh grass in spring after a light rain shower, which has been dispelled by the first warmth radiating from the sun, allowing this grassy earthiness to rise and form a delicate mist over the blooming landscape. The newly sprouted leaf green also shakes off the last raindrops and stretches towards the spring sun, eager to contribute something to this scent composition.
How does it come to these thoughts? In all this seemingly unbearable and almost crushing heat?
And yet the image remains, no, rather, delicate lily of the valley and just-bloomed peonies appear in the formation.
How does it know the scent of lily of the valley? Or even of peonies? It does not remember. But that scent is there.
And while it continues its heavy path, a somewhat rooty, woody scent, almost forest-like, joins in, which, however, only subtly underlines the all-encompassing scent of green, of damp grass, of freshly budded leaves.
Fresh, so fresh. Spring-fresh. Those are its last thoughts before the drop of sweat on the wrist runs along towards the index finger and drips from it onto the blazing hot asphalt, where it evaporates in seconds.
And it makes its way. Slowly and steadily, without pause, albeit laboriously. The heat is its domain, its field of existence. And yet, its progress is also an extraordinary effort for it, costing all its endurance as it feels like it might evaporate on the spot under the sun, which resembles a fireball, and disappear into nothingness forever.
And so it does not give up, practically rolling forward piece by piece, unwilling to surrender this battle.
In its iron concentration, determined to reach its goal at any cost, an utterly unexpected and even more inappropriate thought of spring suddenly sneaks in.
Green is the very first thought that comes to mind. Why on earth green? Rather, it would be the association with yellow, perhaps a bright orange-yellow, or considering the parched, water-hungry landscape, even ochre-brown-yellow. Why green? And at the same time, there is a scent of grass in the air, grassy grass, green grass. Damp and somewhat earthy. And at the same time fresh. Similar to the smell of fresh grass in spring after a light rain shower, which has been dispelled by the first warmth radiating from the sun, allowing this grassy earthiness to rise and form a delicate mist over the blooming landscape. The newly sprouted leaf green also shakes off the last raindrops and stretches towards the spring sun, eager to contribute something to this scent composition.
How does it come to these thoughts? In all this seemingly unbearable and almost crushing heat?
And yet the image remains, no, rather, delicate lily of the valley and just-bloomed peonies appear in the formation.
How does it know the scent of lily of the valley? Or even of peonies? It does not remember. But that scent is there.
And while it continues its heavy path, a somewhat rooty, woody scent, almost forest-like, joins in, which, however, only subtly underlines the all-encompassing scent of green, of damp grass, of freshly budded leaves.
Fresh, so fresh. Spring-fresh. Those are its last thoughts before the drop of sweat on the wrist runs along towards the index finger and drips from it onto the blazing hot asphalt, where it evaporates in seconds.
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