hortus conclusus

Every time I think I have a handle on the incredible Guerlain lineup of fragrances, the ground shifts beneath my feet, I smell something again, for the first time, for the latest in the string of revelatory times, and my perspective changes. I then see the quality of one category of fragrance completely differently—all other iterations of genre pale in comparison to the one brilliant Guerlain creation. Such was my experience tonight with Nahema , a Guerlain I know well, own in several forms, thought I understood….I was wrong. Tonight was a hot rainy day, followed with a humid overcast evening. I put on Nahema and she radiated from my skin. I finally understood her, because she was part of me, or was I part of her? It didn't matter, really. There she was, a shifting whorl of impressions, now a lavender, now a cinnamon, now the smell of damp sweat, now the physical incarnation of the idea of the dark tang of love at midnight. never a rose in the sense of a rose is a rose is a r