From The Dust Returned

**Note: I will be phasing out the usual individual picture labels on my perfume bottles to a uniform brown handwritten label, so perfume labels may vary from current listing photos** “I see a wolflike thing crossing a dark river—at the shallows— just above a waterfall, the starlight burning his pelt. I see maple leaves blowing high. I see a small bat flying. I see many creature beasts, running under the forest trees and slipping through the highest branches; and they’re all heading here!” —From Ray Bradbury’s “From the Dust Returned” This scent is inspired by a most peculiar family, The Elliott’s. One, older than the Sphinx, wrapped in ancient linens, coughing dust. Another, a shape-shifter who reads minds in the night. Some who sleep in lidded beds, or have sharp teeth and auburn fur; one who never sleeps but dreams, one who keeps the wildness of youth between his ears, and still one more—a mortal boy who writes their stories. The wind and leaves call them to a particular place, a great old house in need of “October wings, autumn breathings, and fiery eyes”, for the homecoming. I’ve always wanted to create a scent that smelled old and musty, dusty and sweet—like ancient manuscripts or the fraying spine of a book. A scent of time passed, of ghosts and bygone ideas, old wooden trunks filled with family heirlooms hiding somewhere in a cobwebbed attic, ‘a faint pollen of dust falling from an ancient mummy’s lips’. That is what this perfume smells like: memories, attics and mummy wraps, dusty catacombs, and strange happenings. Scent: Aged wood, orris, ferns, papery bat wings, ghosts of summer breezes morphing into crisp autumnal ozone. Sweet, powdery, and wonderfully strange. This is now the fourth scent I’ve created in honor of Ray Bradbury’s work, and likely not the last. I’m forever grateful to have found his words all those years ago as a young child because they’ve inspired me endlessly. Books and storytellers to me, are the most important, and my favorite kind of magic— I love them more than any spell, or phase of the moon, flick of the wrist, or meditation. They’re tangible, humble, dreamed up by someone with the courage to open their mind and pour all of their stuff out onto a page. Those stories coat your insides, stick to your stomach, flow through your veins, and stay with you as long as your mind allows. Do your soul a favor, and read a book today, especially if it’s From the Dust Returned, because no one personifies or writes autumn and Halloween like Ray. Im convinced that he IS Halloween.