A Glimpse Perfume OilOut of Stock
A glimpse through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room around the stove late of a winter night, and I unremark’d seated in a corner,
Of a youth who loves me and whom I love, silently approaching and seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand,
A long while amid the noises of coming and going, of drinking and oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little, perhaps not a word.
– Walt Whitman
A quiet scent, gentle: soft brown leather, a rustle of leaves, warm skin, white sandalwood.
A Vigilant Eye At Heaven’s Center Perfume OilOut of Stock
When everything was high,
there waited the cold emerald,
the emerald gaze:
it was a vigilant eye
at heaven’s center,
center of the void:
the emerald that looked on:
unique, hard, immensely green,
as if it were an ocean-eye,
an immobile water-eye,
drop of God,
tower of greenness.
– Pablo Neruda
Of all the many colors that Lilith has dyed her hair, I think this is my favorite.
An emerald green, a verdant green, a green that is bursting with life, vitality and joy. This is the wet, bright green of wild growth: tiger fig leaf, coconut palm, neroli, mint chypre, green labdanum, green apple, jungle leaves, white amber, coriander, and tea leaf.
Brood X Perfume OilOut of Stock
Dawn, then, was a time where things changed element for
element. Air ran like hot spring waters nowhere, with no
sound. The lake was a quantity of steam very still and deep
over valleys of ﬁsh and sand held baking under its serene
vapors. Tar was poured licorice in the streets, red bricks were
brass and gold, roof tops were paved with bronze. The high-
tension wires were lightning held forever, blazing, a threat
above the unslept houses.
The cicadas sang louder and yet louder.
The sun did not rise, it overﬂowed.
― Ray Bradbury
Like the cicada, rise from your sleep louder and yet louder.
The Great Eastern Brood is now hatching, and this is our homage: moist roots, sugarcane, hay absolute, a summer-scorched golden amber, upturned soil, dew-dappled leaves, nootka, hazelnut husk, moss-touched tree bark, and a dribble of 17-year aged patchouli.
Down the Rabbit Hole Home & Linen SpraySelect Options
Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what was going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and book-shelves; here and there she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed; it was labelled `ORANGE MARMALADE’, but to her great disappointment it was empty: she did not like to drop the jar for fear of killing somebody, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it.
Daisies and dirt with a hint of orange marmalade, dry leaves, and crunchy old sticks.
Dusk in Autumn Perfume OilOut of Stock
The moon is like a scimitar,
A little silver scimitar,
A-drifting down the sky.
And near beside it is a star,
A timid twinkling golden star,
That watches likes an eye.
And thro’ the nursery window-pane
The witches have a fire again,
Just like the ones we make, –
And now I know they’re having tea,
I wish they’d give a cup to me,
With witches’ currant cake.
– Sara Teasdale
Black tea, currant cake, mandrake root, a whirl of dried leaves, and hearthsmoke.
Falling Leaves Moon 2020 Perfume OilOut of Stock
Today, as I rode by,
I saw the brown leaves dropping from their tree
In a still afternoon,
When no wind whirled them whistling to the sky,
But thickly, silently,
They fell, like snowflakes wiping out the noon;
And wandered slowly thence
For thinking of a gallant multitude
Which now all withering lay,
Slain by no wind of age or pestilence,
But in their beauty strewed
Like snowflakes falling on the Flemish clay.
– Margaret Postgate Cole
A cascade of fading leaves against a backdrop of grey ambergris, grassy vetiver, carrot seed, fossilized amber, green cardamom, cinnamon husk, saffron, tobacco flower, and bay laurel.
The accompanying Lunacy Tee can be found here!
It is our distinct honor to continue our collaboration with the Caldecott-winning Dan Santat: Author/Illustrator on 2020’s Lunacy series, with FALLING LEAVES MOON.
You can visit Dan’s Amazon author page here.
If you love children’s literature, you must pick up “Beekle,” “After the Fall,” “Drawn Together,” “Dude!,” “Sidekicks,” “Crankenstein Valentine,” or any other of Dan’s amazing books. His stories aren’t just for kids: they are moving, touching, heart-exploding stories for anyone at any age.
Hunter Moon 2019 Perfume OilOut of Stock
As the winter encroaches, the time comes to embark on the last Great Hunts of the year. The deer are fattened, the fields have been reaped, and the light of the full moon illuminates the wild creatures that have come out to glean. This scent is redolent of night skies, falling leaves, and the high-pitched tension and release associated with the Hunt. A blend of traditional lunar oils touched with dry leaves, autumn bonfires, warm mulled wine, feral, animalistic notes and the chill of approaching winter.
The accompanying Lunacy Tee can be found here!
Ivy Twining Around Discarded Skull Perfume OilOut of Stock
Smoldering incense, scorched brown sandalwood, drooping petals, noxious English ivy berries, and a tangle of leaves.
Little Atalanta Perfume OilOut of Stock
Lilith is a very martial creature. She loves kung fu and swordplay, and has been begging for archery lessons for years. We were finally able to fit it in this past year, and she took to it immediately. Now she’s asking if she can learn mounted archery, and I’ve been joking about sending her to a huntress summer camp with our cousins in Mongolia.
A pleather jacket and a swirl of autumn leaves.
October 32 Perfume OilOut of Stock
The scent of Eternal October: leaves fluttering against a thick wool sweater, the cool amber glow of an autumn sunset, dollops of thick cream swirling in black tea.
Samhainophobia Perfume OilOut of Stock
The Fear of Halloween
Menacing Haitian vetiver, patchouli, and clove with a shock of bourbon geranium, grim oakmoss, and dread-inspiring balsams pierce the innocuous scent of autumn leaves.
Samhainophobia Perfume OilOut of Stock
The fear of Halloween. Menacing Haitian vetiver, patchouli, and clove with a shock of bourbon geranium, grim oakmoss, and dread-inspiring balsams pierce the innocuous scent of autumn leaves.
Songs of Autumn II Perfume OilOut of Stock
Inspired by the terrifying red skies in the Jambi province, caused by the smoke haze resulting from rampant slash-and-burn: red musk, burning leaves, palm oil, soot, and woodsmoke.
Swans on the River Perfume OilOut of Stock
Honeysuckle, white tuberose, gardenia petals, and wet green leaves.
The Amorous Tree Perfume OilOut of Stock
“Gently, gently,’ he counseled himself. “No man with the power to summon Robin Hood – indeed, to create him – can be bound for long. A word, a wish, and this tree must be an acorn on a branch again, this rope be green in a marsh.’ But he knew before he called on it that whatever had visited him for a moment was gone again, leaving only an ache where it had been. He felt like an abandoned chrysalis.
“Do as you will,’ he said softly. Captain Cully roused at his voice, and sang the fourteenth stanza.
“There are fifty swords without the house, and fifty more within,
And I do fear me, captain, they are like to do us in.’
“Ha’ done, ha’ done,’ says Captain Cully, “and never fear again,
For they may be a hundred swords, but we are seven men.’
“I hope you get slaughtered,’ the magician told him, but Cully was asleep again. Schmendrick attempted a few simple spells for escaping, but he could not use his hands, and he had no more heart for tricks. What happened instead was that the tree fell in love with him and began to murmur fondly of the joy to be found in the eternal embrace of a red oak. “Always, always,’ it sighed, “faithfulness beyond any man’s deserving. I will keep the color of your eyes when no other in the world remembers your name. There is no immortality but a tree’s love.’
“I’m engaged,’ Schmendrick excused himself. “To a western larch. Since childhood. Marriage by contract, no choice in the matter. Hopeless. Our story is never to be.’
A gust of fury shook the oak, as though a storm were coming to it alone. “Galls and fireblight on her!’ it whispered savagely. “Damned softwood, cursed conifer, deceitful evergreen, she’ll never have you! We will perish together, and all trees shall treasure our tragedy!’
Along his length Schmendrick could feel the tree heaving like a heart, and he feared that it might actually split in two with rage. The ropes were growing steadily tighter around him, and the night was beginning to turn red and yellow. He tried to explain to the oak that love was generous precisely because it could never be immortal, and then he tried to yell for Captain Cully, but he could only make a small, creaking sound, like a tree. She means well, he thought, and gave himself up for loved.
A tree in love: misty, rose-flecked leaves, warm bark, and shuddering branches.
Toy-Strewn Attic Perfume OilOut of Stock
Physical and psychic artifacts of past inhabitants lie forgotten atop steamer trunks, limbs askew or missing, glassy eyes searching sightlessly for new playmates.
Cedar chests cracking from age, the sharp, metallic scent of rusting tin soldiers, dried leaves caking cracked porcelain tea cups, the shattered faces of china dolls and the tattered appendages of rotting cloth puppets, a glass eye gleaming beneath a dust-caked table, the rose-tinted tinkle of a ballerina dancing inside a music box that suddenly warbles as a rocking chair creaks in a darkened corner.