Wisivc

"The violet in Spring tells of the blossoming of the soul"

There is a place where my thoughts find refuge from the world, where I read my poems aloud at dawn in March, when the first violets of the year emerge from the still frozen earth.
That place is the garden of my soul. In Viole Nere I address the theme of absence and blackness in which I hide my being, abandon my mind, where the word becomes a boulder to which I bind my spirit and where poetry becomes a form of invocation. Perfume becomes marvel, black on black. I have chosen to tell a new story that has the scent of a Black Violet.

In the morning
when March came,
I would stop to pick
small bunches of violets,
shy and austere.

At night,
I would stop and look
at my garden,
attentive and taciturn.

Absence is a mystery,
of dark dress,
of powdery scent,
of strange emotions.

It is the darkest hour,
when the rain falls.
And for days now
I have forgotten myself.

It is the brightest hour,
when the first violets arrive,
the last snow melts.

So it is written in the booklet for the fragrance. There is more written there - I will leave that unquoted for now. I would like to briefly describe the scent in my own words.

In the opening, for my nose, the iris takes center stage. It initially steals the show from the violet, coming across very dry, dense, almost root-like. But then the violet breaks free from the dark, deep iris base. It becomes sweeter, friendlier, brighter, yet still covered, muted, not too cheerful. The first rays of sun after a long darkness, droplets sparkle in the timid light. Like awakening from hibernation, still not quite sure if everything fits, if one was supposed to wake up. Should one? Does it all make sense? Never bright and cheerful, yet alongside melancholic aspects, it also radiates uplifting, regenerated, fresh life. It is worth it.

A beautiful representation of the first days of spring. Dark, deep, violet and suspicious, but at the same time full of hope, floral, gentle, and delicate. When I smell the fragrance, I inevitably think of l'heure bleue - this is l'heure bleu foncé. Or rather violet foncé. The dark violet hour. This time not shortly after the sun sets in warm summer, but shortly after it rises in cold winter. And always it is the melancholic violet.

Sweaty, Laura, the young archaeologist, wandered through the labyrinth of the jungle. Since her fall, she could hardly remember anything, at least not the last few hours. She wasn't even sure if it had been a fall. Everything was a bit blurry, dull, quiet, unclear; she still had the outlines of her colleagues in her mind, especially Michael. Something was wrong, but she couldn't organize her thoughts. In any case, she shouldn't be out here alone, and with hardly any water and food, it could become difficult, that much was clear to her. The last thing she could somewhat clearly remember was that the search for the lost Maya city had led her into this never-ending tangle of roots and vines. The lush vegetation, which usually shone in rich green, merged with the last rays of the sun and the sweat in her eyes into a glowing orange, and everything appeared as if through a veil. It was hot, far too hot. And a slight nausea overcame her.

With her machete, she carved a path through the underbrush. The sound of the cutting steel spiced up the silence of the forest but was drowned out by the melodic sounds of exotic birds. The air was stuffy and humid, resin dripped from the freshly cut roots, and tropical flowers fueled the impression of the infinity of nature. Laura took the last sip from her water bottle and tried to orient herself, but the dense vegetation blocked her view.

The sun gently fought its way through the canopy, bathing the forest in a warm, golden light. Laura closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. She tried to bring order to her thoughts and think of the words of her former mentor: "The jungle is a place of secrets. Respect it, and it will protect you."

Suddenly, she stumbled. What was that? A huge nut? The sphere looked a bit like a coconut, and white sap was running out of it. Did the nut seem to glow from the inside, or was it an optical illusion? A gentle breeze brushed through Laura's hair as she picked up the wonder sphere, almost as if it were a sign from the jungle. Confused, she shook off her thoughts and fought her way further through the underbrush.

Before her, a clearing opened up. In the center stood an old, mighty tree, mightier than all the others. Its roots formed a thick circle, and on its branches hung oddly shaped flowers, white flowers, yellow flowers, tropical flowers, exuding sugary spice dust and apparently self-pollinating. Even as she stared at the tree in astonishment, one flower after another transformed into ripe fruits, fruits like the one she had just found. Leaves grew, the tree became larger, juicier, taller, infinite. The scent of the flowers was intoxicating, nectar clouded her battered mind, and Laura could hardly believe her eyes as a hidden entrance opened in the tree bark.

She climbed through the entrance into the interior of the tree and found herself in a fabulous cave. Strange hieroglyphs covered the walls, the ground was soft, green, and full of leaves and roots. One could see the last rays of the sun through the tree, which were now slowly being replaced by the protective darkness of the moonlight. The intoxicating scent of the tree penetrated deep into the cave, the air was warm and sweet, and Laura longed for a break. Dazed, she slowly sank to the ground and breathed in the moisture-laden air. Images of long-gone times flashed before her eyes. She saw the Maya city she had been searching for and the people who lived there. She no longer doubted that she was exactly where she belonged and would never leave this place again.

The light grew brighter and brighter. Suddenly, the young woman felt herself being pulled upward by an infinite force. She lost the ground beneath her feet, and with a jolt, she was catapulted out of the tree. Michael stood by the bed next to her, holding her hand, while two colleagues stared at her blankly. "Well, you're really up to something. Next time, feel free to let us know in advance if you absolutely want to brew tea from self-harvested plants, okay - then at least we can go on the journey together ;)"