Zerotonin

In the summer of 2019 I went on vacation on one of our beautiful North Sea islands. Two days before departure, I received a swap package, lovingly packed with plenty of samples. Since I had little time and leisure before departure to test attentive fragrances, I just packed everything and took it with me to 'my' island.
The Internetempfang there was quite poor, so I dared some 'blind tests', looked at me the fragrance pyramid so not before. With Brooklyn I had serious concerns that it would not fit so at all to my vacation - with the name I thought of traffic noise, of exhaust fumes, of rushing people, dusty streets, dirty backyards; perhaps also of the smell of coffee, which flows from one of the many Starbucks and Co, spices from the Streetfoodtrucks. Overall, I imagined a loud, crowded, smoky, restless scent.

And got the complete opposite. I was so firmly convinced that this must be a mistake. This is by far the only fragrance whose name (in my opinion) so not at all, in no way fits him. I therefore refuse since then to call him 'Brooklyn', and have simply named him after my favorite island. ;-)

He smells like creamy cream orange ice cream with a hint of vanilla, after summer, after a good mood, after 'come down' and dangle in the hammock.
Slightly sweet, damn creamy (musk!!), fruity-orangy-citrusy, yet in no way pungent or tart citrusy. I mean in the base also something nutty to perceive - perhaps walnut or similar.
From the specified flowers I smell little except for a cheerful iris, a great scent progression there is also not. Is me personally in this case but quite right. The sillage does not necessarily slay you, but that would also be out of place here.
This fragrance, combined with sun-warmed skin and the salty sea air.... No, no matter what I write now, it would not do justice.
My favorite summer companion, when I just want to feel good and switch off.

We sit around the campfire. It is a spring evening and already dark; it is cool, but the fire warms. It is quiet, no one is talking. Lost in thought, we watch the flames stretch towards the sky. Someone has applied patchouli - I detect it now and then, ever so slightly and subliminally. Who it comes from, I can't tell. It's not my friend, he's wearing incense today.
He steps closer and hands me a large cup of black tea. He meant well and put 4 sticks of cinnamon in it right away. I take a sip. The taste of cinnamon fills my mouth, and its smell drowns out that of the burning wood. My friend sweetened it. Good, strong forest honey settles on my tongue.
It's getting colder. I move closer to the fire and press my hands to the cup. I want more of the smells that surround me.
After some time, the group slowly disperses. The Patchouli person has already left, and the fire is just an ember.
I put away the cup, which has been refilled a few more times, and we make our way home. Longingly, I look back.
In bed at night, just before falling asleep, I still have the taste of cinnamon in my mouth, the incense of my friend in my nose, and the smoke of the fire in my hair.