It opens with the green scent of the treetop and then becomes creamier, as if I were walking on a sunny morning with the morning dew on the leaves under the tree and then picked the sweet, ripe fig. Then a woody accent comes in, supporting the creamy fig. In my mind's eye, I sit there, leaning against the tree trunk, enjoying the morning, the sun, nature, and the wonderful fig.
This scent always tells me a story. Some are dissatisfied with the sillage and longevity - I am not. But then I also do not belong to the group of people for whom these two criteria are particularly important.