Aolani

Wonder wind! What a name for a perfume! Munich's first perfume manufacturer pays attention to exquisite and vegan ingredients, fills by hand and polishes the cap. The silver stone symbolizes an Isar pebble. The advertisement matches the respective fragrance with a wonderful photo and poetic text. The couple Lengling divides their scents into a Leng- and a Lingnote. Here is the Ling "Shady Pine Grove" and the Ling "Sunny Sea". Lengling creates a Gesamtkunstwerk. For Wunderwind it won the first place at the Duftstars 2018 - German Perfume Award in the category Artistic Independent.
The hymns of praise made me curious and so I tested the Wunderwind in the Duty Free Shop at Munich Airport. The start is gentle, the only smell I notice is pine needles. I'm not coming to the Ling, to the summer.
Saturday, bath day.
My sister and I play, slide back and forth and up and down. We call the back and forth waves Pitschi-patschi, with our hands we also hit the bath foam. Then move up and down again. Araco waves. That's what we called them. Until the water sometimes sloshed over the edge.
In the plane I still clearly smell the miracle wind, look out of the window, below us the clouds, then with a wobble through a cloud front. No, the miracle wind won't carry me to the sea. There's something in that perfume I don't like that lasts forever.
The miracle wind remains a gentle breeze, but any note in it disturbs me, I almost get sick of it. Too bad. I would have loved Wunderwind so much, would have liked to fly across the world with him. Not for me, I'm afraid. Better a real bubble bath.
My mother wrapped us in towels after the bath, made a remark about the slopped Araco and Pitschi-Patschi waves and wiped the waves without complaint.

The sentence was in Otfried Preußler's book "The Little Witch" - so I thought. It occurs to me when I leave the house early in the morning, the sky blue from the sky blue and small sheep clouds graze on the sky meadow. Then I am calm inside and full of silent anticipation for the day. In front of me there is the Little Witch with her raven and the girl with the paper flowers who made the Little Witch smell.
Every time the washing machine runs, the sentence comes to mind. The sound of the washing or dishwashing washing machine has always given me a feeling of home, of security. I sit in the nursery again and play while the washing machine is running. Softly reminds me of this sentence and of the sound of the washing machine with the quiet gurgling and chuckling and this being lifted up in the world.

The first test disappointed me. Immediately after spraying, Softly was too sharp for me and the top note too soapy.
I like the scent now. After several tests we have become friends. And there's something in Softly that might make me addicted.
First I notice the ginger - its refreshing spiciness goes well with the cotton note. It smells like dried laundry, which you take from the clothes horse and put together. I smell magnolia very softly.
Orange blossoms and jasmine immediately take over the direction. The heliotrope is very faintly visible to me. Over time, the fragrance becomes a little powdery and creamy and, above all, softer. And slightly sweet - but really only hinted at. Musk and sandalwood support the flowers and give it more depth. Strangely enough, even after several attempts, I can't spot the vanilla in the base note, although I love vanilla. Or can't I just smell it and it's the vanilla scent that could make me addicted?

Softly is an unusual fragrance. Something different. However, nothing for love at first spray.
With Softly I feel fresh and well-groomed even on sultry, hot summer days. Softly feels like a clean, white bed sheet. After this feeling, when you get out of the shower dripping wet and the water rolls off. After clean, but not unsexy. I'd like to take a bath in it. Unfortunately, the fragrance doesn't last as long as I wish.
The bottle is beautiful. It lies well and pleasantly heavy in the hand. The shape is balanced, almost perfect. Although the liquid in the bottle has the same colour as the cap, the light blue is not heavenly enough for me. Which brings us back to heaven. Oh yes - the sentence. I've been looking through the book. I didn't find that sentence. Maybe he's not in it like that. I don't need him anymore either. I got Softly now.

The first spray beamed me under a fig tree into a garden at the Mediterranean Sea. It is early in the morning, through the green fig leaf roof a light breeze is blowing from the sea. The air is fresh and clear. The first flower buds open. They timidly show their faces to the young day. At the foot of the gnarled, twisted trunk lies a burst fig, from which a sweet scent emanates. A wasp circles around the fruit, a whirring, then silence. In my back I feel the smooth bark and look upwards - a green umbrella of five-lobed leaves protects me. The fig leaf - one hand. In my mind's eye Adam and Eve appear, painted by Dürer, the shame covered with foliage, Eve holding the apple in her hand. We're still in paradise. They were apple tree leaves and not fig leaves, where did the fig leaves come from, I still think, then I fall asleep. A siren in my ears - I wake up. It itches. A mosquito bite. I pick a fig leaf, drizzle the latex on the red spot. Sunlight flickers through the treetop and conjures up a green-golden roof. The trunk in my back smells woody-warm. I'm happy.

When you came into the world, I lived in a grey-green skyscraper in a desolate boardroom on the fourth floor. I smelled you and I was all over you. Just save a little bit and you'd be mine. Every working day I took the elevator down, rushed to the bus and drove to the big city, to my apprenticeship. Every day I was late and had to wait for the elevator where your scent was floating. The neighbor below me had sprayed herself with you. And she was always punctual at the bus stop. At work the same thing - I took the elevator up - surrounded by your scent - one colleague carried you, the next and another. After two weeks I had had enough, so to speak. I've been wrestling with your mix of sultry sweetness that first captivated me. Sometimes you still meet me today. My heart becomes heavy and a soft sigh rises from my throat, a melancholic regret that we became nothing and I am again alone in the desolate grey elevator cabin

that's how I imagined Silver. Or like a sea of stars over a forest, through which a clear stream mysteriously flows - so pure, so original, so silver.
The top note is too inharmonic for me - too little forest, too much bergamot. In the heart it finally becomes more flowery - iris and violet - very elegant, not omamic. And thanks to musk, the silver star is wrapped in fragrant cotton wool. Finally the associations are there again - Silver - a mirror, a game with the mirror in which you and I flow into each other