Aventurin
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Aventurin
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Every spell has an end in it
Green fragrances usually touch me a little more than the pure floral, citric, oriental or even gourmand ones.
They are often serious and a little unapproachable, melancholic and closed, especially the darker, sometimes harsh representatives - with lots of galbanum, moss and forest accents - are rarely shallow and cheerful.
The slightly milder, lighter ones - grassy and green-leaved - are busier and airier, are the good-humoured, spring fresheners.
Ombre de Hyacinth is one of the melancholy ones, but is touchingly fragile like porcelain. One hardly dares to expose him to enemy life, a breath of wind could blow him away, fatally injure him.
It is as if ten masks had been removed, above all those of the heaviness and bitterness that galbanum can radiate, and only the lowest one left, the one that separates the soul from the body like wafer-thin parchment.
Ombre de Hyacinth thus appears as thoughtfully introverted as weightlessly fragile. Oscillates between delicate violet, powdery flowers and dark green, ethereal depth, like a pale cool morning under dense tree shadows.
We humans are fragile too. Some more, some less. Our hearts sometimes appear stronger than they will ever be, are in the end only like a thousand layers of leaves, and every single leaf of them is highly vulnerable, is quickly crushed by a raindrop, torn apart by a gust of wind.
"Jedem Zauber wohnt ein Ende inne" is the title of a piece of music by Bersarin Quartett.
And here very suitable, because Ombre de Hyacinth no longer exists.
And in his fleetingness, his last slow breaths, he reminds us of all the good that passes, disappears and perhaps silences forever.
(I thank KatharinaG and Achilles)
They are often serious and a little unapproachable, melancholic and closed, especially the darker, sometimes harsh representatives - with lots of galbanum, moss and forest accents - are rarely shallow and cheerful.
The slightly milder, lighter ones - grassy and green-leaved - are busier and airier, are the good-humoured, spring fresheners.
Ombre de Hyacinth is one of the melancholy ones, but is touchingly fragile like porcelain. One hardly dares to expose him to enemy life, a breath of wind could blow him away, fatally injure him.
It is as if ten masks had been removed, above all those of the heaviness and bitterness that galbanum can radiate, and only the lowest one left, the one that separates the soul from the body like wafer-thin parchment.
Ombre de Hyacinth thus appears as thoughtfully introverted as weightlessly fragile. Oscillates between delicate violet, powdery flowers and dark green, ethereal depth, like a pale cool morning under dense tree shadows.
We humans are fragile too. Some more, some less. Our hearts sometimes appear stronger than they will ever be, are in the end only like a thousand layers of leaves, and every single leaf of them is highly vulnerable, is quickly crushed by a raindrop, torn apart by a gust of wind.
"Jedem Zauber wohnt ein Ende inne" is the title of a piece of music by Bersarin Quartett.
And here very suitable, because Ombre de Hyacinth no longer exists.
And in his fleetingness, his last slow breaths, he reminds us of all the good that passes, disappears and perhaps silences forever.
(I thank KatharinaG and Achilles)
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