Clausd
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Clausd
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Afternoon at the beehive grave of Al Ayn
shimmering heat in the late afternoon, the air stands still.
no tree, no shade.
only the millennia old beehive graves, made of flat stones.
mystic calm.
a citric sweetness, not fresh, more like nectar is in the air.
some incense, quite appropriate to the place.
A touch of vanilla... ...as if a Spanish tourist had felt a touch of CSF 43
a flatterer - almost lulling pleasant ...
Out of nowhere a civet cat suddenly passes by and leaves a splash of Zoologist Civet... a dream combination, which is now complemented by animal notes, the sweetness is lifted to a new level... the evening can come.
no tree, no shade.
only the millennia old beehive graves, made of flat stones.
mystic calm.
a citric sweetness, not fresh, more like nectar is in the air.
some incense, quite appropriate to the place.
A touch of vanilla... ...as if a Spanish tourist had felt a touch of CSF 43
a flatterer - almost lulling pleasant ...
Out of nowhere a civet cat suddenly passes by and leaves a splash of Zoologist Civet... a dream combination, which is now complemented by animal notes, the sweetness is lifted to a new level... the evening can come.
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