| autumnal immersion |
It's been three washes
and still my hair is steeped thick;
cade, smoked birch, pine pitch and cured
The incense of October
into my old wool sweater I refuse
to give up. It's hooded and
so warm despite the whole hole
at the armpit seam I don't
know how to mend.
It's not grey
or black, but just the color of wet bark on a
Its hug, a lap of stories.
It's been to the deepest
corners of the Hollow where children looked through glinting
the rocky banks of the
rose hemmed river getting snagged
on thorns and always
It's been over and under and in between every other
layer of down and easily snuggled.
It's carried hickory nuts in the left pocket,
wintergreen in the right,
and sassafras saplings in the hood,
in a pinch.
It stretched itself to fit a fat feral pear
and a pointed found antler.
Its sleeve unrolled to shield the hot
steel of the stew pot from my cold,
It matched the sweater of a long sweet friend I've lost
So many peeled acorns and
cherry barks and
cracked thumbs and
very long hugs.
We used to lift each other up on our shoulders to reach
the biggest, creamiest
If only the memories could be a little
clearer; stuffed in the weave
like post-it notes,
I could flip through the yarn and
share the albums.
Strength: pure perfume extrait
thick wool layers
The Process, The Gathered.
We've returned to the immersive experience of camping as of late. Sweater Stories and Waxed Leaves are both olfactory compositions that are informed by these sensorial, site specific experiences. New England autumns are so special, it's hard to capture its whole energy but small attempts through olfactory art seem a worthy effort.
As Falling becomes an archived perfume, I welcome Sweater Stories it its stead, at least for now.
You can take a peek into a couple of our camp experiences here and here.