DolcePita

On one of those days when the sun hung like a sleepy lion at its zenith and the air shimmered as if it were a mirror of broken time, a little boy hopped over the gravel in the parking lot of the small swimming pool in worn, brittle sandals. It was the millionth day of vacation.

Frederik, but everyone called him Peace. He was not a ruffian, nor an aggressive individual. He was the gentlest and best boy there was at that time, one would say later. But like all those who fit too well into the world, Peace seemed to carry a premonition of what would later happen to him and was hesitant with big decisions.

But now, in this moment, he felt only complete satisfaction at being in the swimming pool. He settled down on the warm grass next to the edge of the pool and watched as the sunbeams transformed the water into a thousand tiny shards of light. The swimming pool was right next to a lake. Something he always found very silly. On the other hand, there were also fish and swans and ducks in the lake. They must have opposed it back when the city council convened to build a swimming pool.

It was as if he could see time itself dancing in the waves. But not the time that Papa complains about or the one that is chased by teachers. It was the true time, which only wanted to be noticed but had no fear of it. A lemon butterfly flitted clumsily through the hot air, and Peace wondered if it knew how beautiful it was. He couldn't remember if all living beings could look at themselves in a mirror, but he suspected that it wasn't so important to most.

It smelled somehow like delicious skin. Like that of Mama. Or Grandma. And of warmth. And somehow of other things that were all delicious in a way, even though you couldn't eat them. The warmth of the summer air wrapped everything like an invisible cloth.

Almost sweet, as if the sun itself could be tasted. Peace loved these moments when the world was so alive that it felt like it could burst at any moment, just to release even more colors, more sounds, more everything. At the same time, he noticed how loud it was at the swimming pool. The calls of the other children, the splashing of the water, the rattling of the diving boards, and the squeaks of those who didn't dare - everything was part of this chaos. But the longer he listened, the more he realized how this noise could turn into a soothing silence if one only wanted it. As if the sounds condensed into a quiet wave sound that held nothing uncertain within it.

The kiosk, whose ice cream freezers sparkled like tempting capsules from another dimension, drew him in like a magnet. There stood Mr. Bogdan, the kiosk seller, as always, a man whose cheerful appearance did not quite harmonize with the slightly disturbing wobble of his eyes. A glass eye that shimmered in the sun like a forgotten jewel, and a laugh that was too loud. Much too loud. - so loud that it echoed again and again on the bus ride home. Bogdan laughed at things that no one else seemed to see; in fact, he laughed at everything. He was a man who seemed to love everyone, who told stories, not always coherently, and whose hands often shaped wild things while he spoke, as if they were kneading the air.

“Hello, little buddy! Today is special! Already waiting, your Bogdan. For you, Peace, a very special ice cream,” said Bogdan, having laughed Peace over from afar. Peace took the ice cream without knowing why his hands were trembling. The ice cream itself was a wonder, a shimmering spiral of colors that intertwined with each other, a scent that smelled of thunderstorm and brown sugar. And while Peace licked under Bogdan's widest grin in the world, he felt how the glass eye rejoiced. It shifted. Like an inner mechanism that had rested too long.

It did not happen suddenly, but like a quiet whisper that echoed in his ears, a feeling as if the world around him was sucking the air out of itself. His fingers began to disappear, curling in on themselves like a rubber glove. His skin stretched like chewing gum - back and forth - his legs, his arms became formless lines, something or someone had stolen his bones. Fump.

The sound like when Papa opens a beer and the cap pops off the wire bail. He was still sitting on the grass. But as what?
If he had had a mirror, he would have seen it. There, where just a freckled blonde boy had been sitting, lay a tube of sunscreen - smooth, soft, without a will of its own, yet permeated by a knowledge that had not been accessible to him before.

He did not feel what he had felt before, no fear, no panic. It was a state of pure being, a consciousness without borders, captured in the warmth of the sun that enveloped him. His scent, creamy and sweet at the same time, spread like a silent call that was directed at no one yet penetrated everything. He had become part of everything, and everything was part of him.

And then she came.
Silke Meerbusch-Strötershagel. Art teacher. HIS art teacher. A woman, heavy and graceful at the same time. She had a presence that filled every room without overwhelming it, and her eyes seemed as if they could shatter any mirror. But not with dominance or forced egocentrism. She was infinite softness.

Her hands reached for him, tubed Frederik. She squeezed him onto her skin, letting him spread over her slightly reddened body as if he were not a cream but an invisible veil connecting her to the world.

Why the sauna was open in summer was not a question that a sunscreen would ask.
The sauna, a steamy room where the air hung like a heavy curtain, awaited her. The heat enveloped her like an old lover, while the smoke from her cigarette dissipated in the swirls. Peace felt how his being expanded, how with every breath of the woman he drew deeper into the pores of time. The scent of tobacco - thick and sweet like a promised end - mingled with the cedar wood of the sauna and the sweet-salty notes of sweat. It was as if the world itself was breathing, and Peace was its breath.

Her breaths were calm, in them lay a tenderness that had nothing human about it. It was the tenderness of time, which expands and contracts again, merciless yet comforting. Peace lost himself. In the sauna, in the smoke, in the sweetness and his own newfound creaminess. And when he was nothing more than a whisper of memory that mingled with the air, he felt for the first time what it meant to be there.

Outside, winter lay infinitely far away. Yet Peace no longer feared it. He was the sun, the heat, the skin, the life. And as the woman exhaled deeply, he disappeared with the smoke, a final greeting to eternity, if only for a moment. Summer has always come back, mostly again and again. Only the summer holidays, they eventually come to an end.

It was a wondrous time when the squinting John C. began his fateful journey from the windy expanses of Iceland with a stunning head voice that defied the tides. Together with his three extraordinary sisters, who were so charming that even the Northern Lights turned pale with jealousy, he founded "Fischersund," a name that would become known all over the island for its divine fragrances.

It was a day when even the geysers were bubbling with envy, as John C. had the idea to create a perfume that would capture the essence of fresh air. An essence that lifted the heart of every freedom-loving spirit in the flutter of butterflies. It was meant to capture the gentle melody of rain in a delicate zephyr and revive the feeling of water on the cheeks.

For years, John C. roamed the snow-covered plains, always gazing at the majestic Northern Lights, hoping to find a unique element that would breathe an everlasting soul into his fragrance. Yet all his discoveries were as enigmatic as an elf's riddle and as fleeting as the phantoms of the midnight sun in summer.

But then, one fateful day, while he was debating the thermodynamics of snow blocks with a snow weasel, he stumbled upon a mysterious glowing moss that crowned the hidden corners of the glacier. It seemed almost as if it had sprung from another planet and had wandered here to enchant the senses of mortals.

The snow weasels whispered that this moss could only be harvested on the night of the longest day in summer. It was a night when the tides of time collided into an incomprehensible jumble, and the shadows of the past merged with the lights of the future. John C. knew that this was the moment he had long awaited.

Together with his sisters, who carried a bouquet of colorful balloons and an endless list of puns, John C. set out on the journey to harvest the mysterious glowing moss. However, the challenges were immense. The numerous sheep had transformed into a chorus of volcanoes that made the harvest difficult by rhythmically shaking the earth.

Nevertheless, John C. and his sisters did not give up, and with a daring somersault over the moonlit craters and a sneeze so powerful that it turned back time for a moment and straightened John C.'s squinting eye, they conquered the glowing moss. Lo and behold, the sheep hadn't meant it so seriously after all.

In his tiny but inventive laboratory (a table made from an old harmonium), John C. mixed the moss with the most precious scents that the island had to offer. A hint of polar bear fluff, a shimmer of fairy dust, and the whisper of the wind were carefully added to create an extraordinary perfume - "Outdoors".

The secret of "Outdoors" was that it seemed to outsmart time itself. It allowed wearers to embrace infinity for a fleeting moment and transform the air around them into a dreamy symphony. It was a scent that brought smiles to the eyes and made the senses soar. A translation of "Let's go," "Andiamo," and "Dawai," only as a fragrance. Out with you, it says.

And so, John C., the squinting boy with the divine head voice, became famous for his musical odes and the shimmering world of his Fischersund dynasty. With "Outdoors" as a wondrous key, he opened the doors to people's hearts and let them dance for a moment in a breath of fresh air.

But like all extraordinary things, "Outdoors" had its eccentric quirks. The fragrant magic disappeared as quickly as a snowflake in the summer sun. It was a scent that bloomed in the hearts of people, only to retreat like a shy elf back into the distant corners of memory. It greatly depended on the skin that wanted to caress it. Some seem not to trust it, while others find it remains loyal longer.

Finally, the time had come. Kevin and his friends were joyfully enjoying the early summer after graduation on a wild meadow. Even while they were setting up their tent, that endless feeling set in. The feeling that only summer can evoke. The golden joy and laughter in the evening sun were infectious, and the time spent together seemed limitless. As night fell, the friends gathered around the warming campfire, sharing their stories and songs. The embers danced in rhythm with their laughter, and the crackling of the wood filled the air with a mysterious melody. A night full of carefree joy, where the worries of everyday life faded away and the connection between them grew.

Warmly enveloped by this peaceful moment, Kevin suddenly felt a strange sting in his neck. At the same time, peculiar blue lights appeared around the tents, flickering like fireflies through the darkness. The moment passed as quickly as it had come, and just as quickly it was forgotten.

When Kevin awoke the next morning, he was struck by an incredible confusion. Something had changed. What had bitten him that night had overnight become his family. He felt six legs instead of the two wiry stilts his mother often called chopsticks. He no longer felt arms and hands. To make a long story short: Kevin had become a beetle. "Kafkaesque," he said to himself. He had always been able to maintain a certain healthy sarcasm in any situation.

But what now?

The meadow, which had seemed familiar and accessible just a few hours ago, had transformed into an enchanted labyrinth. Kevin fought his way to the zipper and looked into that mighty, radiant forest, hundreds of times larger than himself.

He bravely made his way through the tall grass, marveling at the huge, glittering dewdrops that tasted better and clearer than any water before, and he was in awe of the gigantic blades of grass that rose like majestic trees into the eternal sky. With each step, the scents of the fresh meadow filled his tiny beetle lungs and awakened his new senses to life.

As Kevin paved his way, he could absorb the diverse scents of the fresh meadow. It was as if he could suddenly smell the color green. And the airy freshness of the flowers! In front of him stood an elongated plant, with radiant yellow leaves. Its relaxing scent took away his last fear. He was now completely a beetle.
In the midst of this gentle freshness, Kevin suddenly stumbled upon a tiny crumb. It was a cannabis crumb, carrying a seductive aura of relaxation and adventure. The slightly resinous spicy smell. Had it always been like this? Matilda must have dropped it last night. She had nurtured and cared for it on the balcony and had only recently harvested it. With a hesitant heart, he tasted a moment of it before deciding to continue his journey.

With each step through the grass, Kevin felt the fresh power of nature stretching, waking up, and full of energy to open new perspectives for him. He was awake. The beauty and diversity of this world were breathtaking, and he realized that his true journey consisted of discovering and exploring the wonders and mysteries of nature, flowing through the challenges in the current of this awakening and freshness.

So Kevin crawled on undeterred, his little beetle legs carrying him steadily forward. As he fought his way through the grass, surrounded by the scents and beauties of the fresh meadow, he knew that his transformation was ultimately a gift. It was an opportunity to experience the world from a different perspective and to experience the magic of life in all its facets.

Kevin woke up. Of course, at some point, he had to wake up. He opened the tent door and looked out at the vast green that had just moments ago overgrown him in his dream. The smell in his nose halved with each second, quietly distancing itself, hand in hand with the images. Suddenly, the old smells were back. The sweaty tent, Lars was already grilling breakfast again, and Matilda was lighting up a joint for the same purpose. He pressed his face as close to the ground as he could, pushing as much grass towards his nose with both hands as possible. There it was again. But it wasn't the same.

Dreams always fade faster than one would like.

23.02.2019:

Oh, how the stars have aligned for me today, Gary, the soap enthusiast! A moment of destiny as I joined this renowned company. I was literally catapulted into the Olympus of the soap world, my dear. A passion that flows through my very being, as pure as the mountains of foam in the bathtub paradise. From the fundamentals of soap chemistry to the subtle nuances of fragrance creations, I am a true connoisseur, penetrating every pore.

34.02.2019:

Ah, my diary, how I wander through the labyrinth of perfumery, an artist in search of the perfect olfactory masterpiece. Rosemary and ginger are my chosen ones, a duet of scents that intoxicates the senses and uplifts the spirit. I have spent hours upon hours researching, experimenting, and reveling in clouds of fragrance, in search of the essence of elegance. Like an alchemical composer, I mix my ingredients to reach olfactory heaven. A dance of molecules that transcends the boundaries of imagination.

March, 2019:

Oh, sweet diary, the universe has rewarded my creation. My soap with rosemary and ginger unfolds its fragrance notes like a blooming garden of purity. The world is enchanted, their noses trembling with delight. I am the king of soap creation, the conductor of scents. The fame envelops me like a veil of soap, and I savor every moment of triumphant success. Yet life always holds a twist, like a bar of soap in the hands of a clumsy person.

Sometime, 2019:

Oh, bitter irony of fate! My greedy boss steps out from the shadows of profit greed and demands that my glorious soap be transformed into a perfume. A desire that challenges my knowledge and expertise like a soap brick in a storm. Yet I dare not confess my ignorance, fearing the disdain of my peers. Thus, I embarked on the thorny path of perfumers, a trampled path of ignorance.

End of 2019:

Oh, how bitter the perfume of defeat smells! My efforts to create an olfactory masterpiece have ended in the most horrific fragrance disaster. A stench reminiscent of toilet blocks and car air fresheners, a hint of despair and failed dreams. The soap, once a jewel of purity and sensuality, has been distorted, perverted into a nightmare for the nose. Here I stand, with tears of disappointment in my eyes, wondering: When will this soap opera end?

The rumbling is over! After the wild spinning party and the confusing whirl, I’m now hanging outside in the spring air, enjoying my newfound purity. The sun caresses my fibers and makes me shine like a model on the runway.

I am a sheet. A real lucky sheet that has just been fished out of the machine by Mamma Maria. I breathe in the scent of the detergent that still clings gently to me, mixing it with the light sea breeze and Mamma Maria's garden with citrus fruits. A perfect duet of scents that gives me a feeling of lightness and makes me fresher than an air-conditioned ice cream parlor.

Mamma Maria took such tender care of me. She gently placed me in the washing machine and chose the luxury program. Every drop of water worked hard to free me from dirt and stains. Thank you, water! You have made me shine again.

But wait, where is my feeling of freshness? Oh no, the sun! It’s slowly picking up speed and is really roasting me here on the exposed line. It’s sizzling so much at noon, and the slightest bit of natural oil seems to evaporate any freshness. Well, that’s probably it for the spring feeling.

One moment I’m the king of freshness, the hero of the wardrobe, and the next moment I’m humiliated by minimal oxidation. Well, at least I can claim that for a brief moment I was the star of the drying process. That counts for something, right? Let it be. Mamma Maria come to me. Let it be.

A great scent that would be absolutely amazing if it were just a bit more lasting.
But at least it’s a good scent if you don’t really want to wear anything or plan to be very close to other people in the next few hours (Twister, cinema, getting stuck in the elevator).