L'Eau du Caporal L'Artisan Parfumeur 1985

On the old mountain pass, there hasn't been much going on for decades. But the air and landscape are still magnificent. In the morning, during spring, a biting fresh wind blows down from the glacier, collecting a minty aroma from the first sprouting herbs on the still timidly green slope. I like to linger there for 1-2 hours, letting my gaze wander over the mountains. I have time. Around noon, my companion arrives. She has picked wildflowers and lavender. Spread out to dry on the wooden table, the scent mingles with the not-so-cool but still minty mountain fragrance. As the ground warms in the midday sun, anisic-earthy notes join in.
What do we actually need all this modern stuff for? Run, run, run! Scents thick and sweet like syrup. Power power power. The outpost may have had its time, but the air, the tranquility, the nature....
Evening is slowly approaching. The scents of the snow-capped mountain meadow landscape become weaker, but remain gently perceptible. Time stands still. Deceleration.