but I remember the colour as well: it was blond.
His essence was that of a dry eau, for those,
who don’t like to get wet.”
When I come to think about summer, this certain kind of dry, hot summer – you probably know what I’m talking about – I also think about the stalks of corn and wheat and rye and the always growing sound of the cicadas in the field. It’s that kind of summer where almost everything stands still because of the dry heat. The sky so blue, the wheat all yellow and the ground dry and warm. It’s not a tropical kind of summer memory, there is no beach, no ocean… the only thing that exists is silence and the endless fields over which we used to run as children in our tiny white, embroidered dresses. Those dry fields, where we used to lock grasshoppers in glasses only to free them again later. But the thought of these kind of summers also makes me remember our mothers and grandmothers, who used to work so hard on these fields to gather the crop before the next thunderstorm. This childhood lightness and weight of remembering combined makes for a beautiful melancholy feeling inside me. A very warm feeling, indeed.
These dry, hot summers from our childhood is also what I think about when the scent of L’eau de paille by Serge Lutens blows around my nose. A perfume as if it was made for me: fresh, dry and yet full of warmth. Even today, while summer is still months away, the perfume makes me dream about the scent of freshly cut straw, whose crackle you can almost hear on your skin. A very beautiful and poetic scent, like a dry, hot summer’s day.