Autumn Rhythm gives me the idealized sensation of biting into a dry red leaf .

I actually have a lot of idealized sensations I’ve created over the years. Biting into the sun, drinking in a cloud, chewing on gold, molding hot lava, riding turtles. Some of these are impossible. Some of them are mostly just ill-advised. All of these things realistically play out pretty unpleasantly, or at least rather anti-climatically. Biting into an autumn leaf wouldn’t actually be fresh, spicy, crumbly, or like the wind kissed my tongue; it would be really, really gross.

On the other hand, the idealized sensation of biting into a leaf that’s turned color during autumn is an exhilarating and comforting experience, like the spices of a cider pressed their hands into the wood of a large tree and you could smell their love on the brace of the smokey, cold air. Fall air has always smelled a little singed to me, like the sun is always burning incense. It’s a really nice mix.

After two hours or so, a musky, slightly soapy tonka remains with the more peppery woods taking a seat back and becoming an effusive base for warmth. It feels almost as though I’m wearing burnt sienna clothing even though my New York autumn is decidedly gray and oddly pastel.

I like that it stays nice and dry. It lasts for quite a while and it even projects just a bit on my very non-projective skin. Very nice for every day, even in the office, but interesting enough that you won’t be mistaking it for another scent any time soon.