Herbsttraum

My grandma lives in a small village in the south of France. When I was a little child, I visited her every year. The house stands directly in a curve and despite the direct street proximity one hears extremely rarely a car passing by. On the other side of the house is my grandma's beloved rose garden. Every time I call there is a report about the flowers and trees growing in the middle of green meadows (you have to know that this village contains only 6 houses despite the larger total area). Most holy to her are the different roses.

But Ninfeo Mio does not smell like roses. Ninfeo Mio smells like verve. When I got a bit older, instead of hot chocolate, we always had verve tea. On the hot days we didn't dare leave the stone house until late in the evening and eat baguette with boiled ham and Comté. My grandma always boils the tea freshly and serves it in a noble white teapot
The tea is of course citric, but also tastes somehow green and simply fresh. That's exactly how this perfume smells. A little sweeter, a little creamier, but verveine. The freshly boiled Verveine tea of my grandma, brewed in a white teapot.