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Palonera
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Palonera
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38
with a breath
"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
No, thou art more lovely and more temperate -
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date."
The summer of 2014 has just begun, and hopefully, that glory which Shakespeare compares to the beauty of his beloved will last a long, long time.
In my garden, nature has ignited a fireworks display of colors - countless flowers and grasses revel in days of never-ending light, stretching their wide-open blossoms toward a sun that is still gentle and friendly like a loving, nurturing mother.
The wind is silky cool, softly rustling through the foliage, mingling with bitter-green aromas that get caught in the thorny tendrils of the bushes, where the first berries blush.
So young, so delicate and fresh and cool is nature, yet already in the process of ripening, the next generation just a breath away.
Every year again, I would want to pause time at the beginning of summer, hold the hands of the clock still, stretch the moment into infinity, to savor all the colors, all the shapes, all the scents just a little longer, to force their lingering, knowing full well that it will not succeed, that nature cannot be halted, cannot be deterred in its cycle.
But sometimes - very, very sometimes! - it is possible to preserve a blink of time, a snapshot of nature, to capture its scent in a small bottle and with it all the images, all the feelings, all the wonderful things that we associate with that very moment we do not want to pass, we do not want to let go.
In the midst of the deepest winter, when the snowstorm rages around the houses and the icicles grow longer and longer, "L'Heure Folle" releases me from cold and darkness and sets me barefoot on the sun-warmed grass of an early June afternoon.
"L'Heure Folle" begins with a whirl of deliciously sweet red fruits - Dorothée's berry jam comes to mind, countless sun-ripened fruits with a hint of bitter freshness, perhaps a little gin, a little mint, she has never revealed her secret.
Nowhere in the world would I have preferred to be than on that summer morning on her terrace, the breakfast table set with oven-warm croissants, butter from the farmer next door, and her incomparable jam.
It was still a bit cool, the scent of the night mingling with the bright green of the grass and the deep green bitterness of the ivy on the wall behind me.
We spent endless days in her seemingly wild garden, daydreaming, building castles in the clouds, our fingers sticky from the juice of the red, black, and blue berries that grew abundantly on the bushes, whose bounty never seemed to run dry.
In the afternoon sun, the slightly bitter and so aromatic, dark green scent of the boxwoods, which were allowed to grow wild, wafted through the air.
All these images, all these scents "L'Heure Folle" brings back for me, spanning decades with a breath.
Hour after hour after hour, "L'Heure Folle" lingers on my skin, shedding the sweetness of the first moments, cooler and clearer still the fruits, bright and airy balanced with tender to deep green foliage on dark, bitter wood.
A scent that captivates, ensnares in its beauty, in its clarity, awakening the child in us and the longing and the memory of carefree days that lie so far in the past yet are so very near, just a breath away.
A scent that gives hope and confidence in the return of light, the return of life - even in the darkest winter night.
No, thou art more lovely and more temperate -
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date."
The summer of 2014 has just begun, and hopefully, that glory which Shakespeare compares to the beauty of his beloved will last a long, long time.
In my garden, nature has ignited a fireworks display of colors - countless flowers and grasses revel in days of never-ending light, stretching their wide-open blossoms toward a sun that is still gentle and friendly like a loving, nurturing mother.
The wind is silky cool, softly rustling through the foliage, mingling with bitter-green aromas that get caught in the thorny tendrils of the bushes, where the first berries blush.
So young, so delicate and fresh and cool is nature, yet already in the process of ripening, the next generation just a breath away.
Every year again, I would want to pause time at the beginning of summer, hold the hands of the clock still, stretch the moment into infinity, to savor all the colors, all the shapes, all the scents just a little longer, to force their lingering, knowing full well that it will not succeed, that nature cannot be halted, cannot be deterred in its cycle.
But sometimes - very, very sometimes! - it is possible to preserve a blink of time, a snapshot of nature, to capture its scent in a small bottle and with it all the images, all the feelings, all the wonderful things that we associate with that very moment we do not want to pass, we do not want to let go.
In the midst of the deepest winter, when the snowstorm rages around the houses and the icicles grow longer and longer, "L'Heure Folle" releases me from cold and darkness and sets me barefoot on the sun-warmed grass of an early June afternoon.
"L'Heure Folle" begins with a whirl of deliciously sweet red fruits - Dorothée's berry jam comes to mind, countless sun-ripened fruits with a hint of bitter freshness, perhaps a little gin, a little mint, she has never revealed her secret.
Nowhere in the world would I have preferred to be than on that summer morning on her terrace, the breakfast table set with oven-warm croissants, butter from the farmer next door, and her incomparable jam.
It was still a bit cool, the scent of the night mingling with the bright green of the grass and the deep green bitterness of the ivy on the wall behind me.
We spent endless days in her seemingly wild garden, daydreaming, building castles in the clouds, our fingers sticky from the juice of the red, black, and blue berries that grew abundantly on the bushes, whose bounty never seemed to run dry.
In the afternoon sun, the slightly bitter and so aromatic, dark green scent of the boxwoods, which were allowed to grow wild, wafted through the air.
All these images, all these scents "L'Heure Folle" brings back for me, spanning decades with a breath.
Hour after hour after hour, "L'Heure Folle" lingers on my skin, shedding the sweetness of the first moments, cooler and clearer still the fruits, bright and airy balanced with tender to deep green foliage on dark, bitter wood.
A scent that captivates, ensnares in its beauty, in its clarity, awakening the child in us and the longing and the memory of carefree days that lie so far in the past yet are so very near, just a breath away.
A scent that gives hope and confidence in the return of light, the return of life - even in the darkest winter night.
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