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Have you ever pruned an orange tree?
Admittedly, neither do I. However, if I think of the characteristic smell that comes from cutting other woody plants such as privet, boxwood or thuja, it would have to be like freshly cut orange tree, which is what I perceive in Sintra's upbeat.
Spicy green I smell, pleasantly fresh and and almost minty cool. As if the hedge clippers had been dipped in sugar before being cut, a soothing sweetness blends in almost instantly.
Let's put the shears aside, and if you'd like, grab a basket of the orange blossoms I picked off before topiary. I press my basket as close as I can, the blossoms smell lovely, so deep and sweet.
We head for the nearby cottage and take a seat on the old wooden bench in front of the kitchen window.
The path to the front door is lined with rose bushes, all faded. Too bad, I like the scent of roses very much, would have liked to perceive it. Instead, the mighty jasmine next to the house is in full bloom. Its scent mingles with that of the orange blossoms on our laps. Do you smell that? That's a nice way to spend some time on the sunlit bench.
But there's something else. Is that marshmallow? Hmm, not quite for me. I'd wager there's caramel pudding cooking in the kitchen behind us right now. Maybe with custard? In any case, a pleasant sweet fragrance envelops us, quite controversial to the fragrance prelude.
Now and then a small breeze blows a memory of the green cut to us, the combination is a beguiling scent of a spicy floral sweetness that I want to enjoy for hours.
Speaking of hours, Sintra has considerable longevity, 10 hours it stays on my skin, much longer on clothes. If I were forced to pigeonhole Sintra, I would choose the one labeled summer gourmand.
I really hope you can do something with this attempt to put my head cinema into words, feel free to let me know.