BeJot

I have a long way to go. I know it.
What will I encounter? What will happen? I do not know.
Laborious steps, in the harsh headwind. My hands find a foothold in the resinous joints of the stone wall. Saffron threads pull me onwards. Step by step.
My gaze wanders along the wall to the next bend, the next hope.
Having lost all sense of time and space, I follow the twists and turns of the path.
Through wafer-thin beeswax windows I see the outline of a rose. Its scent lures me onwards. Step by step.
The lightness of white blossoms. Memory only?
Step by step. The certainty of arriving at some point keeps me going.
Step by step.
Another turn.
And suddenly I am standing in the middle of the warm, amber light. It flows through every fiber of my body. I hardly dare to move. It stays!
Like a balm, it soothes the wounds of my parched soul, filling me with joy and peace with every breath.
Arrived!
Free!

The tuberose stands tart and proud, defying the wind.
It looks forward to its fading with melancholy.
Lavender comfortingly joins her side.
Silently, almost secretly, it strokes her flower head.
Then it happens: the first petals come off. A breeze carries them away.
Pride blows away with them. She bows her head sadly.
Lavender opens his hand. The scent of the shining white petals mingles with its violet.
Tuberose allows it. She calmly lets go of her blossom. A gentle breeze catches the fragrant petals and carries them like a garland to the dancing girl on the beach. The soft tones of a ukulele can be heard from afar.

Dear Floyd, thank you very much for your inspiring review and the opportunity to get to know the fragrance.

Pale light falls through the small skylight. Sparks of dusty light dance above the wooden table.
Cold ashes, stubbed-out cigarette, rusty letter opener. Dried ink on yellowed blotting paper.
You open the desk drawer. An acrid, resinous smell creeps out of it. Small, old plastic boxes with indefinable contents next to dried tobacco residue. A photo of an old typewriter crumbles to dust before your eyes ...
How long ago...? From whom...? Why...?
You sit down on the dusty swivel chair. You have time. Your imagination finds answers...
...
This fragrance experience starts for me with an indefinable stench. Water and soap almost put a premature end to the whole thing. But there is something that stops me. Images appear, dark, changing, alternating between corrosive liquid from the poison cabinet ... coked plastic ashtray from the 70s ... crumpled photos ... old, pungent tobacco ... and dusty attic junk ... Slowly, the fragrance becomes tobacco resinous, dark. It stays that way for quite a while.
An interesting fragrance experience, definitely not a wearable perfume for me.