Mown Hendley Perfumes 2017

The summers of Juno's youth had been so hot, all the fields shimmering like fire, the grasses drying out before the harvest, and because there was hardly any water left, Granny Gertrude watered the meadows with chamomile tea so they wouldn't catch fire. The hay then smelled healthier overall, not quite so sharp, rather sweeter and rounder, and from the sandy-colored ends, one could see the yellowish pearls disappear, first still shimmering, soon only flickering.
And because all the fruit also evaporated far too quickly, they placed slices of fruit bread in the bags with the Virginia tobacco during the hay harvest, which kept the fine cut somewhat moist in the mornings, and when Juno got hungry in the field, he was allowed to eat from it. That was the scent of summer for him, the steaming hay with the dry raisins, finely spiced tobacco, and the buzzing of bees, which in the distant magnolia blossoms, glowing in the trees on the horizon, had long since found no nectar and desperately drank ambrette drops.
When Juno thinks of the hay harvest today, the images pass by him again - only quieter now - for a few hours in the room, the scent of long-past summers.

(With thanks to FvSpee)