fig | lemon | cedar | copaíba | musk | marine notes
At the end of an August afternoon or he beginning of September, leaving the rice fields behind, we go into the fields almost up the mountain, in a dry heat, roasted and hot yellow. We throw the blanket on the floor, open the basket with fresh lemonade, and lie down to read a book with a view of the foothills right next door. Under a fig tree.
SCENTED CANDLE BRAVO
interior bronze painted glass vase