Pluie Battante Eau de Toilette

There was a time he waited for a storm loud enough to drown out his own voice. This is not that same storm, not anymore: Neroli opens it, bright and green and faintly bitter, a fresh sunlight with an edge. Freesia after, cool and peppery, more like rained-on air than like a flower. Then tea, steeped dark: oolong, roasted and round; black tea, tannic, dry, refusing to be pretty. What stays is wood after: Vetiver at the root, cedar upright, guaiac smoked and resinous. Nothing sweet. Nothing soft. A quiet forest standing in the rain and it says the earth's tales aloud at the perfect time.