12/01/2019

Torfdoen
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Torfdoen
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21
A summer thunderstorm
The air in expectant trembling. Lightning. The last rays of citric-orange light cut off and hidden behind dark clouds. An interval of cooling incense, a slightly ethereal breeze blowing up. It's all in my head. On the dusty streets, rain inertly draws an increasing pattern. The soil reacts and gives off an intense aroma of dominant culinary herbs. Caraway, greasy, coarse leather, but also vital sprouting tobacco. Noble organic barrel material that radiates a dark musty character. Residues of human rule have come to the surface everywhere. Mighty flowers act from the hidden, entice with a beguiling greeting of life. The combination of these fragrances weaves itself into a dirty sultriness, hidden in the light summer haze. Better than the relentless, dust-dry heat. Much better. There is an orange earth refreshment after the shock and some sweetened liquorice screw rubber for calming.
Squatting in the street puddle. Blissful splashing in the murky herb water. Don't be afraid of dirt and filth. Memories of Azzaro Homme, although no lavender soap far and wide, only dirty-orange high pleasure. In the fall. Probably the best time of year for this thunderstorm.
Squatting in the street puddle. Blissful splashing in the murky herb water. Don't be afraid of dirt and filth. Memories of Azzaro Homme, although no lavender soap far and wide, only dirty-orange high pleasure. In the fall. Probably the best time of year for this thunderstorm.
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