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There is an ossuary on the Venitian Island of San Michele, which, when you open the wooden door, is light, airy, cold and brim filled with containers of bones. It smells of this.
When I first tried this scent I hated it. It smelled of sadness, darkness, mourning and death.
Now I treasure my bell jar of Iris Silver Mist. Sometimes I wish to carry this scent with me all day, to feel the coolth of sadness and the remoteness of death. Sometimes, I use it to succour my inner strength before riding out on my daily quest dressed, perhaps, in something easier to wear.
For me, this is more than a scent. It is a meditation and I am happier and stronger for it.
15 January, 2012