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Notes02/12/2021
Mörderbiene
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Mörderbiene
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Some become more beautiful with age
S Efai blieht bloß em siebente Johr - that's what we learned back then in elementary school.
This is nonsense, of course, suggesting that ivy is a hapaxanthe plant.
In retrospect, I'm not sure if our teacher merely misspoke - my current understanding is that ivy doesn't actually flower until about age seven, but then it does so annually - or if this was meant to be some sort of coded life wisdom she liked to toss around.
Eau de Camille created Annick Goutal for her then seven-year-old daughter, who liked the smell of ivy.
And if the ivy was as old as she was, it must have bloomed for the first time that very year.
Knowing full well that ivy does not necessarily smell pleasant when in bloom, I nevertheless inwardly imagine a flowering wall of ivy - not with the actual, inconspicuous blossoms of ivy, but more magnificent, and matching the lovely floral fragrance of this perfume.
I think of golden green garden bliss, wrapped in late summer sempest sunshine.
Idyllic, with bees dancing around late flowers and around the wild ivy against the west wall.
In ancient times, ivy was consistently regarded as a symbol of the joyously celebrating gods and their revelries, which were as often crowned with ivy as with vine leaves.
And Eau de Camille is a joyful, light-hearted fragrance, playful and telling of freedom and defying all late summer melancholy.
Somehow fitting the image of the seven-year-old girl dancing with the bees while the grown-ups comment benevolently on the flower beds with wine glasses and beer bottles, or discuss over the barbecue the latest match of the local first handball team.
A light summer scent that can be worn equally by the young and the young at heart - and by those who grow more beautiful with age.
Eau de Camille is the fragrance that makes the sun sing of summer on today's snowy February morning.
This is nonsense, of course, suggesting that ivy is a hapaxanthe plant.
In retrospect, I'm not sure if our teacher merely misspoke - my current understanding is that ivy doesn't actually flower until about age seven, but then it does so annually - or if this was meant to be some sort of coded life wisdom she liked to toss around.
Eau de Camille created Annick Goutal for her then seven-year-old daughter, who liked the smell of ivy.
And if the ivy was as old as she was, it must have bloomed for the first time that very year.
Knowing full well that ivy does not necessarily smell pleasant when in bloom, I nevertheless inwardly imagine a flowering wall of ivy - not with the actual, inconspicuous blossoms of ivy, but more magnificent, and matching the lovely floral fragrance of this perfume.
I think of golden green garden bliss, wrapped in late summer sempest sunshine.
Idyllic, with bees dancing around late flowers and around the wild ivy against the west wall.
In ancient times, ivy was consistently regarded as a symbol of the joyously celebrating gods and their revelries, which were as often crowned with ivy as with vine leaves.
And Eau de Camille is a joyful, light-hearted fragrance, playful and telling of freedom and defying all late summer melancholy.
Somehow fitting the image of the seven-year-old girl dancing with the bees while the grown-ups comment benevolently on the flower beds with wine glasses and beer bottles, or discuss over the barbecue the latest match of the local first handball team.
A light summer scent that can be worn equally by the young and the young at heart - and by those who grow more beautiful with age.
Eau de Camille is the fragrance that makes the sun sing of summer on today's snowy February morning.
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