Limette 37 Le Labo 2013

...on my skin as the jet makes its puddle from the small sample sprayer at 32 degrees outside temperature.
It's August, it's hot, it's not my first test of "Limette 37" - and I still don't know what limes smell like, freshly cut, peel, zest, juice.
I don't know.
Actually I had wanted to buy limes, for safety and comparison.
But then there were none in the shops where I could think of what I wanted to buy - and in the others, I forgot them.
Now it must go without, without limes, without direct comparison - the rest in the tube is threateningly coming to an end, I cannot test much longer, especially since it always runs the same, the test, always to the same end.

Bright and radiant opens a citrus note that could come from almost any fruit I know: I would nod to lemons, limes, pomelos and grapefruits. Even petitgrain is possible, given the lack of prickly spines on the note that wafts around my nose.
No sweetness, not a grain only.
It is almost garish, the freshness, white and green, yellow not so much.
After a good quarter of an hour, threads of flowers weave their way in gently, soft, bright, which I cannot define, making it softer, the scent without taking away its freshness, its coolness, which is pleasantly refreshing on days like today and generally when it is lazy, my head when it thinks slowly and listless and needs a push to remember that it is the boss of the big whole called body.
Then "Limette 37" helps - but then other pick-me-ups also help the colognigen family, which is large, colourful and varied, which I only need to reach into the shelf to meet, perhaps even climb into the cellar to get them out of the cool darkness.
I don't have to travel to San Francisco, even though I'd love to, at some point in time when there's plenty of time and no pandemic.
That would be nice
"Lime 37" lasts a long, really long time on my skin - and it manages to do this without smelling at any time, without reminding me of detergents or anything else I don't like or smell that much.
Well, with time it runs out of puff a little, the freshness, also the brightness - then it nestles even closer, becomes quieter, softer still, a little creamy, a little powdery.
Here and there the sun flashes through the canopy of leaves in the tree in front of my house, it smells in the heat of this afternoon, its green and brown very fine speckles scatter on the creamy white and march grass green, the fine spice of my skin.
Summer hot, summer damp, cotton smooth on white linen.
Fresh laundry on the line, a gust of wind brings a little coolness.
Slowly the sun sets, the heat gives way and the light too - only close, very close is "Limette 37", the nose has to tilt close to the skin, the already dry, cooler, almost shivering in the moisture rising from the grasses.
One last remnant, one last breath accompanies me in Morpheus' arms - those of the beloved stay away, because as a cologne-cost despiser he doesn't like "Limette 37" very much either.
I'll survive.
And San Francisco, that's for sure, too
PS: Ergoproxy, once again - thanks!