Cœur de Jardin Miller Harris 2015

Summer morning in Italy, an overflowing awakening of nature, the birds are chirping in the cypress trees, everywhere is green, blooming, and wonderfully fragrant, the sun is slowly rising higher and gaining warming power.

“Mom, what is this here?! There are old lemons hanging everywhere on the trees?!”
“Come on, Dad, this is a typical Italian citrus garden, it says so in the travel guide!”
“What’s that supposed to be, an Italian lemon garden?!”
“Yeah, look, it says here! With lemons and bergamot ...”
“What’s that stuff, bergamot? I don’t know that!”
“But it smells amazing!!! Wonderful, right, Dad, tell me?!”
“It smells like it could smooth out the wrinkles from your face! I want a sunny vacation, not a sour one!”
“What nonsense! It smells fresh, not sour, you fool! Like an Italian citrus garden should smell!”
“How do you know that, Mom?! Are you from here? Not that I know of!”
“Oh Hebbert, be a little romantic, it’s nice here!”
“I’m East Westphalian, that’s enough, I don’t have to be romantic too!”
“Come on, take a sniff, something really fresh and tangy! It’s delicious!”
“Oh, you with your delicious! A nice beer would be something delicious, not those old Botox balls!”
“Huh? Botox?”
“Well, wrinkle-removing sour things!”
“Oh Hebbert ...! Now come on, let’s move on, look, there’s a rose garden!”
“Rose garden?! No, no, Hein always prefers a beer, believe me!”
“You can ruin everything! The rose garden! There! Don’t you see it?!”
“Oh no, now that old shrubbery too! With the thorns! I can’t stand that at home during gardening! Always this prickliness! Stupid stuff!”
“Heeeebbeeert, now let’s stop! The roses are so beautiful! One bigger than the other! And they smell ...!”
“It smells even worse here, like Grandma’s rose soap in the attic!”
“Yesss, really smells like rose. Great, right? And still smells of lemons and so on!”
“Lemons, roses... Man, oh man, what I would give for a nice beer!”
“Now stop with your beer! Enjoy the landscape instead!”
“Enjoy? At 35 degrees in the shade? My coffee water is already boiling in my backside! What do I care about the greenery! And look, Mom, they’re also dealing with that moss stuff! Like on our terrace with those concrete slabs!”
“No, I think it has to be like this...?!”
“How now?! That looks shabby!”
“No, no, it says on the sign: Explore our garden with all your senses and walk barefoot over our moss paths, experience the softness...”
“What kind of ridiculous nonsense is that! It’ll pull your pants down!”
“Oh Hebbert, you can’t look at anything on vacation with you!”
“Well then, we can now see where there’s a nice beer around here!”

And the summer wind carries the slightly tangy citrus scent into the rose garden, where the blossoms unfold in the sun of Italy in full splendor and compete in fragrance. Here and there, a single little pear tree can be found, with juicy delicious fruits. And while the moss quietly spreads its velvety green scent, very lightly, quite in the Italian manner, a hint of amber and musk as well as iris seems to merge with everything into a complete fragrance work...