08/09/2020
Carboytony
116 Reviews
Carboytony
An olfactory glimpse into my childhood
Conceived as an olfactory representation of the German heritage of the Missouri Rhineland, Shawn created a masterpiece, a reimagined fougère. This has a grape top-note, a nod to the regions winemaking presence.
Now, those of you who know me, know that my left wrist and right wrist present different notes (I'm a weirdo, joyfully).
On both wrists and elsewhere you are immersed in luxury, you can smell, feel, appreciate the love, the quality and the olfactive prowess the went into this composition.
Now on my left wrist, the notes (for my nose, anyway) create the effect of being sitting in a late 19th century gentlemen's library, a glass of Cognac; leather bound books, gently aging; some fresh local flowers sitting in a vase across the room sitting in the afternoon sunlight; a plate of grapes on the desk ready for you to adeptly inspect before committing to harvest.
On my right wrist, this reminds me of sitting under my paternal grandfather's enormous grapevine on a cloudy, warm, early summer day. The smell of the grapevine itself, the leaves, the earth, the grapes maturing. The smell of the small cement patch beneath us as we rock on the swing he had hung up.
Now, those of you who know me, know that my left wrist and right wrist present different notes (I'm a weirdo, joyfully).
On both wrists and elsewhere you are immersed in luxury, you can smell, feel, appreciate the love, the quality and the olfactive prowess the went into this composition.
Now on my left wrist, the notes (for my nose, anyway) create the effect of being sitting in a late 19th century gentlemen's library, a glass of Cognac; leather bound books, gently aging; some fresh local flowers sitting in a vase across the room sitting in the afternoon sunlight; a plate of grapes on the desk ready for you to adeptly inspect before committing to harvest.
On my right wrist, this reminds me of sitting under my paternal grandfather's enormous grapevine on a cloudy, warm, early summer day. The smell of the grapevine itself, the leaves, the earth, the grapes maturing. The smell of the small cement patch beneath us as we rock on the swing he had hung up.
Rachelg
