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The autumn crocus
A strange summer passes by. Pandemics and climate change have turned travel into an increasingly ambivalent experience, and the grandchildren's ever-present finger of caution urges us to refrain. And damn it - they're right.
My biographical carbon footprint is shameful.
Then came the water. Yes, I live in a flood zone, and on my own I would have had a hard time emptying the full basement. Thanks to the young helpers.
I can't get on with everyday life, even if I still got off comparatively lightly. Relatives, friends, neighbors and acquaintances are often more affected. Many a person who was privileged yesterday is now living in a friend's spare room. At over 70, the thought of a new beginning is not easy. And yet many - including those of my generation - feel the need for a break.
It washed away the car anyway, so I won't be buying a new one in the first place.
I wasn't planning on ending up as one of those pensioners who, in erroneous reverse, intend to turn the local marketplace into a drive-in anyway.
And it is only in the moment of destruction that I sense I have remained blind to the lush beauty of my home for too long. What glorious nooks and crannies are not here?
Memories of wonderful and memorable moments of my life....
Now this is not a senior forum, but a fragrance forum, and the present Gucci fragrance is called consequently also not memory of the prom, but Mémoire d'une Odeur.
No less he is also able.
It reminds me of when I was a rascal, roaming the woods of my homeland in shorts with my friends. Always looking for adventures or material to build dams. The wet leaves, the soft ground, rain, mosses, a snail, an earthworm, a stream meandering gently down a slope, sunbeams flashing furtively through the trees, the rust on an old metal barrel - even the inorganic seemed organic in such surroundings.
I smell more than a tea, rather I perceive the chamomiles as wildflowers on the edge of the dirt road, along with the earth surrounding them.
This eau de parfum is the antithesis of the Instagram age. Not loud, colorful and gaudy.
Instead, tart yet familiar. No synthetic gourmand, which tries to please everyone with sticky sweetness. And that's what makes it so authentic.
His fragrances depict the nuances and facets of life far more aptly than those awful cinnamon pudding bombs. I honestly would have hardly trusted Gucci in particular to make such an anti-mainstream statement.
Incidentally, Mémoire d'une Odeur comes up with the - at least for me personally - now visually most aesthetic bottle in my collection. A fragrance can hardly dress more elegantly.
I can hardly wait for the beginning of autumn. I want to slip into my shoes, and jump into puddles. Want to hear the dirt slinging against my pants. Want to lean down, and once again admire an ant at its busy work for minutes on end.
All the goodness was so close all along. Thank you Señor Morillas for reminding me...