Sandal Amber Parfums Vintage

The coastal mist is bright here, hesperidic, as if filled with fluorescent citrus droplets, it glows brightly across the land yet is gray with dust and cool, as if it comes from a nearby chapel. The sea is surely far away, I do not hear the gentle rolling, smell no salt, just mist for a few minutes.
Then the amber rises in the haze, beginning to take on a reddish hue, the lemons enchanting in blood oranges, hiding deep within a core, almost like a fur, lost in amber. How old must this heavy flotsam be, that it has lost all sweetness, almost dragging itself mustily over sandalwood, which seems brittle beneath? For two or three hours, I watch speechlessly the spectacle of the citrus-pulsing mist, blood oranges becoming labdanum drops, shimmering black honey gradually permeating the archaic amber, which shimmers brownish, tamed by the dry sandalwood, almost caramel-like.
Then the sea comes, rolling wave after wave over patchouli sand the dark vanilla, washing away piece by piece first driftwood then amber along with bitter labdanum, enveloping me for another three to four hours in a cozy soft and warm embrace.
***
Sandal Amber lives for me from its well-harmonizing contradictions: The Indian incense, which contrasts the citrus-bright slightly animalic musty amber, which in turn later, tamed by labdanum and sandalwood, sinks into patchouli-darkened vanilla, while remaining rather close to the skin from the beginning and lasting a good seven to nine hours.

(With thanks to Deadsoul)