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AtTheScenter
5
longing for nostalgia - or: about preserving and conjuring up
the dawn lay like a warming veil on nature,
when i awoke in the open field
and even before i opened my eyes, fragrant essences
like a silken scarf over my face and body
ripe blood oranges hang golden in the late summer sun
warming saffron atomizes and envelops the fruit,
on whose skin honey-sweet drops glisten like morning dew
but the early freshness of the blood orange drifts with the course
of the sun after awakening
of the sun
hazelnuts fall from the tree
bees buzz between dry hay
non-sticky natural honey sweetness drips down from the tree
on tart dry tobacco
no damp, dark, fermented tobacco leaves are steaming out here
these leaves have been dried in the sun, whose warmth they still carry
in the wooden hut at the other end of the meadow, a mother is baking sweet desserts
a little incense burns in her kitchen
in front of the hut is a basket of dried spices and precious woods,
the smell of which is carried on the wind
i daydreamed that i had a handful of dried hay and shavings of precious woods
sprinkled with spices and wrapped in a tobacco leaf,
which I sealed with honey and wax,
but i did not light this bundle, i only held it in the light veil
of the smell of baking and incense drifting from the hut,
to give him just a hint of smoke
like a potpourri of everything that means nature and embodies rural summer,
i carried this bundle before me and, as it were, its scent carried me through the day,
from dawn to dusk
indulging, daydreaming, wandering in pleasure
everything is bright and warm, the sun of this late summer casts no shadows
yet the light is never too glaring, nothing is overdrawn to the point of dazzling
where you would expect shadows, you would have to look for them, because it never gets cold
everything is imbued with a warm golden red
it is the pleasant sun of late summer afternoons,
into which you like to hold your face with a satisfied smile
the mediable moment between nature and spirit,
in which you let everything be thought
and you are only sensual perception, enjoying without wanting to
everything is warm, but nothing sweats
it is dry and yet it flows, like a sweet and resinous liqueur
that drips from the sun over the woods and oranges and falls to the ground,
where it settles on tobacco leaves and hay
the drops sparkle in the sunset, but it seems as if the sun stands there forever,
it does not want to sink to the end
the air shimmers between the sounds of nature,
the chirping of the birds, the buzzing of the bees,
the ripple of the wind in the dry hay,
the cracking of the warmed wood,
the tobacco leaves drying in the sun
everything is united, nothing envies each other
i remember angelos' inspiration
and yes, there is a coherent picture
i see his ancestors doing their daily work in the tobacco fields,
nestled in untouched nature, leading a simple life,
sometimes hard but content, far from the hustle and bustle of the estates,
more devoted than self-sacrificing
i see a rural idyll that carries a sense of security,
which the scent also triggers in me
this is a summer as I like it and as it is allowed to live in me
an ode to the lived pure moment of times past
and in the attempt to preserve it, also a nostalgic reminder
of its transience
and it is only by remembering that we can conjure it up again and again,
and may the incantation sometimes be an elixir in a glass bottle
precious because of its exquisite ingredients,
but even more precious for its almost alchemical abilities
fabulously realized concept, i am happy to have discovered this craft and soul art, it will certainly not be the only fragrance of the house
the sample of tabac libre sent along is already on my list of the next purchases to be made
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Heart Notes 
Base Notes 
Kurai
