Chapter 1
A first collection, drawn from finding homein different forms and spaces. Two years of arriving, slowly, into a life I hadn’t yet learned to call my own.
Cold mornings and quieter kitchens. Woodsmoke clinging to a jacket after a long evening outside. The particular hush of late winter light on a Sunday. The way a room you’ve only just moved into begins, eventually, to smell like you.
Each scent here is a small memory shaped into something you can light. Little artefacts from a life beginning to feel familiar, in case any of them feel familiar to you, too.
No. 01
Woodsmoke, cedar, and damp earth at dusk — the smell of every campsite I’ve ever loved. Tent pitched before the light goes, and the first match struck against a long night outside.
View scentNo. 02
Rosemary, basil, and a quiet ribbon of mandarin. The first warm evening of the year, when the garden bed finally smells like a garden again.
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No. 03
Sweet orange, vanilla cream, and a soft cloud of toasted marshmallow. The ice cream truck jingle on a summer evening, melting faster than you can eat it.
View scentNo. 04
Amber, cocoa, and cedar from an old-world library — worn leather and spice softened by a warm curl of coconut cream. The chair that’s been sat in for years, and something drifting in from another room while you keep reading.
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No. 05
Candied orange and dark chocolate gone smoky — citrus peel thrown on the embers after dinner, sweet and a little charred, impossible to walk away from while the fire’s still going.
View scentNo. 06
Worn cotton, a soft dusting of powder, and a hint of lavender — the smell of a shirt gone soft from a hundred washes. Familiar in a way that doesn’t need explaining.
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