Bitter wind and leather rags. Silver spurs, untamed and bold. Man's primal scream. Scent legend carved in mossy stone.

Such tiny white flowers wrapped in shady dark green. Vehemently fragrant. Invincible. Enchanted. The eternal return of a smile in May.

Bloom. Spice. Treacle. Almost glowing. Dark and sweet and thick and slow. Ever so slow. There‘s no hurry anymore when all is said and done.

What once was a unique character has been finally drowned in a painful mainstream tragedy. What a pity, Zoologist, what a pity indeed.

Old friends. Sat on their park bench like bookends... No words needed. Deep friendship cherished in the warm smoke of clove tobacco.