
Floyd
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Floyd
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12
A Grove near Avignon
On the banks of the Durance south of Beaumont, a small grove sleeps far beyond the gates of Avignon, a breeze from the Gorges du Verdon breathes the coolness of the gorges over the riverbed, secretly blowing past the heat of southern France, sneaking through the hollow to the blue cedars, which, providing shade, lean closely together, sweating their freshest scent, breathing in the aromas of the juicy fruits from the orchards, perhaps blood oranges and grapefruit, lightly moistened with the shimmering spice.
When you take a walk
in the early morning,
standing in that grove
hidden from the light:
There the valley shows
you everywhere
the fleeting faces of scents:
The fleeting glance of the gorges' winds
the fruits, spices, the cedar -
What was that? Tucholsky! A too brief trick...
Gone, blown away, never again
When you take a walk
in the early morning,
standing in that grove
hidden from the light:
There the valley shows
you everywhere
the fleeting faces of scents:
The fleeting glance of the gorges' winds
the fruits, spices, the cedar -
What was that? Tucholsky! A too brief trick...
Gone, blown away, never again
10 Comments



Top Notes
Mandarin orange
Thyme
Pink pepper
Logarithmic Drywall
Heart Notes
Nutmeg
Cardamom
Clove
Base Notes
Cedarwood
Teakwood
White musk
JonasP1
Jacko
Peachess
Jeyanass
MugaMushin
IrethAncali
Maddin
November
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