Encre Noire Lalique 2006 Eau de Toilette

It is cool and overcast today. An undecided October morning that, when the mist transforms into high fog, can also unfold into one of those bright late autumn days.
Most shrubs and trees have already shed their copper and amber attire, and the shabby leaves cover the meadow with a brown-speckled patchwork carpet.
From the window of my (witch's) kitchen in the basement, I have a wonderful view from a mole's perspective into our garden.
I am wearing Encre Noir and watching the clever Carrion Crows (Corvus corone) and Magpies (Pica pica) hiding and consuming a ration of peanuts. Just a few years ago, I decided to treat these birds not merely as nest robbers and troublemakers, but like the other songbirds in our garden.
They are no longer chased away, can help themselves at the feeding stations, and indulge in plums and apples. There are nuts for them, surplus (or even extra) boiled eggs, and occasionally a chicken neck and tail.
My perspective has changed, and I have discovered beautiful, fascinating creatures. "Now she's talking about her birds again, well, if she doesn't have a screw loose," some might think, not entirely without justification.
I am wearing Encre Noir:
The fragrance notes are monothematic.
Cypress, vetiver, cashmeran.
Smoky, dark, black.
The plumage of a Carrion Crow is monochrome.
Without recognizable markings, at best described as a modest tailcoat by the more discerning observer.
Dreary, dark, black.
If you give these seemingly grim fellows just a little more than casual attention, it can be incredibly enlightening.
An unexpected ray of sunshine makes the previously dull plumage shimmer with accents of deep violet and shiny green gold, changing in the blue of Damascus steel.
Black painting in the most iridescent colors. °°
I am wearing Encre Noir.
It is illuminating how vetiver is broken into different spectra.
Bergamot flares up, herby-green, still dew-damp lemon monarda.
Flickering smoke from woody sage stems, carelessly tossed onto the blazing garden fire.
The resinous stickiness of a freshly crushed juniper berry between my fingers and the soft spice of well-dried larch wood. That tobacco aroma which clung to my grandfather's handkerchief. A highlight of bitter cocoa perceived in some patchouli.
The coolness of long shadows on a sunny late autumn day.
A glimmer of graphite when sharpening a good pencil and the brittle vanillin of a decades-old book. °°°
All these refractions are scattered by this perfume and spread out before me like iridescent black wings.
The Eau de Toilette was tested on my skin, my well-worn favorite sweater, and stylishly on a crow's feather (of course, a molted feather from a wild bird). On my skin, the development of the scent was the quickest and shortest-lived, with the smoky notes being the most prominent. On fabric, the longevity was significantly better, and the earthy, patchouli-related components dominated. On the feather, the citrus and resin reflections shone, and the progression was overall more moderate and enduring. No erratic development, more
the steady rise and fall of large wings. I find it fascinating how iridescent it appears despite its seemingly dark base. Encre Noir is a scent that, just like corvids, polarizes. The beauty lies, as always, in the eye (or rather, in the nose) of the beholder.
Regarding gender assignment: Even raven ladies wear black!
° a book by Johanna Romberg
°° borrowed from Helmut Peters
°°° here the chimera of cashmeran is probably speaking to me
°°°°° comment without a meaningful fragrance description leading to a test or purchase decision