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Notes06/11/2020
Floyd
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Floyd
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36
Smoked tea with the spirit in the fir tree
For weeks I had been hiking under clouds in an attempt to create a serious encyclopedia of the sky above the Himalayas, when in the forests of the plateau I met the sweet Salabhanjika and was invited into one of her aged fir trees. Something of Old Building she breathed into my ear as ethereal vapours like waves of needles narcotically washed around me, numbing me, Eucalypse Now showed in Cinemascope. And wood smoke was there, clear, dark and dense, its origin remained inexplicable to me at first.
So I found myself in a room made of light green resin in the middle of a mighty conifer tree in the face of an old buck-footed Chinese man whom Salabhanjika casually introduced to me as her new one. He never speaks, she shouted to me in passing as she disappeared into the wall. The old man stroked through his very long goatee beard, shoved a cup of smoked tea over my table, smiled and read me like a book. Like a trance I dreamt of smoking fir trees, Lapsang Souchong between hissing needles, spinning in dense mists that gradually glowed greener and greener.
Every now and then, the buck-footed man sneered quietly, as if he was amused by my enthusiastic journey, lifted his palms after a few hours, let mosses grow on the round walls, smoking grasses now grew from the centre, from more balsamic earth of dark galbanum, which from then on determined the scents of the room, I stayed inside the tree for about six hours.
**
"Fume" convinces me with an exciting balance of ethereal needle resins and wood-smoky teen notes, which hardly noticeably change into smoky vetiver, which, in combination with earthy galbanum and oak moss, carries the bitter-green ethereal needles right into the base. The tree spirits sing a variation of great songs like "Forest" or "Norne" moderately to very closely.
(With thanks to ChopIsland)
So I found myself in a room made of light green resin in the middle of a mighty conifer tree in the face of an old buck-footed Chinese man whom Salabhanjika casually introduced to me as her new one. He never speaks, she shouted to me in passing as she disappeared into the wall. The old man stroked through his very long goatee beard, shoved a cup of smoked tea over my table, smiled and read me like a book. Like a trance I dreamt of smoking fir trees, Lapsang Souchong between hissing needles, spinning in dense mists that gradually glowed greener and greener.
Every now and then, the buck-footed man sneered quietly, as if he was amused by my enthusiastic journey, lifted his palms after a few hours, let mosses grow on the round walls, smoking grasses now grew from the centre, from more balsamic earth of dark galbanum, which from then on determined the scents of the room, I stayed inside the tree for about six hours.
**
"Fume" convinces me with an exciting balance of ethereal needle resins and wood-smoky teen notes, which hardly noticeably change into smoky vetiver, which, in combination with earthy galbanum and oak moss, carries the bitter-green ethereal needles right into the base. The tree spirits sing a variation of great songs like "Forest" or "Norne" moderately to very closely.
(With thanks to ChopIsland)
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