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Showing results for tags 'Halloween 2008'.
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On All Saints Day, Spanish families visit their loved ones in the cemeteries, keeping vigil throughout the evening, saying prayers for the dead. Family burial plots are cleaned and tended, and graves are adorned with gladiolas, chrysanthemums, and roses. Bone-shaped pastries called Saint's Bones, or the Bones of the Holy, are baked and shared in honor of the souls in Purgatory, and to remind us of those who no longer share our repast, but with whom we one day hope to be reunited with again. Orange-glazed cake, dotted with anise seed, and filled with custard, set beside a bouquet of celebratory funeral flowers. Hello deliciousness! This smells just like orange poppyseed cake with a thick layer of custard cream in the middle. (it also kind reminded me of the dry smell of orange fruit loops) This is the first bpal that has any kind of "cake" scent that works for me. All the others made me sneeze. But this is just wonderful without being cloyingly sweet. Nom
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Heat lingers As days are still long; Early mornings are cool While autumn is still young. Dew on the lotus Scatters pure perfume; Wind on the bamboos Gives off a gentle tinkling. I am idle and lonely, Lying down all day, Sick and decayed; No one asks for me; Thin dusk before my gates, Cassia blossoms inch deep. The scent of wisteria, Cymbidium, lotus blossom, and cassia buds drifting on a breeze through gently swaying bamboo reeds. Definatly get the lotus blossom and to a lesser degree the bamboo. There is a green juciness to the blend that always makes me think of bamboo. There are some late summer heavy florals and maybe just a hint of hard candy sweetness. I get a hit of lemongrass that mellows fairly quickly
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Known as the Mistress of Bones and the Lady of the Dead, she is the Queen of Mictlan, the Aztec Underworld, who still presides over today's Day of the Dead rituals. Sometimes known now as La Huesuda, she brings peace and joy to the spirits of the deceased, and blesses the living who do honor to those who have passed before them. Copal, precious woods, South American spices, agave nectar, cigar tobacco, and roses. I've never done a first review before... I'm a little scared! What you shouldn't be scared of, if you dislike roses, is the rose in Mictecacihuatl. It's no more than a floral whisper beneath the resins, woods, and spices. I actually wish it were a little more floral (but then, I love me some roses). Mictecacihuatl is a lovely blend of copal (yum!) and wood (I'm not sure what kind, but I'd say NOT cedar, since that turns to hamster cage on me). The spices add a bit of kick, but they're not the sort of "dirty" spices that are in many BPAL blends, they're much lighter and cleaner. I worried that, with the nectar, tobacco, and rose, this might be too sweet, but it's really not. The sweetness just serves to make the other elements less dry. I really like this one, but I might layer it over something with a stronger rose to bring out that note. If you like woods and resins give this one a try!
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His school-house was a low building of one large room, rudely constructed of logs; the windows partly glazed, and partly patched with leaves of old copy-books. It was most ingeniously secured at vacant hours, by a withe twisted in the handle of the door, and stakes set against the window shutters; so that, though a thief might get in with perfect ease, he would find some embarrassment in getting out; an idea most probably borrowed by the architect, Yost Van Houton, from the mystery of an eel-pot. The school-house stood in a rather lonely but pleasant situation just at the foot of a woody hill, with a brook running close by, and a formidable birch tree growing at one end of it. From hence the low murmur of his pupils' voices, conning over their lessons, might be heard in a drowsy summer's day, like the hum of a bee-hive; interrupted now and then by the authoritative voice of the master, in the tone of menace or command; or, peradventure, by the appalling sound of the birch, as he urged some tardy loiterer along the flowery path of knowledge. Dandelion, white clover, balsam fir logs, and birchwood switches. Am I first here too? ........ Review: I pictured this scent, in my mind, as very "green". Well, it's definitely green! But it's a light, white-veined green. I'm definitely getting a mental image of birch trees. Label is also light greens and a cute little school house. In the Bottle: Very green and planty; it smells of cut grass. Wet: Is that the dandelion note? This is lightening up, and a floral is coming through that's almost... buttery? It's a very pretty scent, much cleaner and prettier than I thought it would be. There's the clover under everything, barely peeping out. Drydown: Clover comes up top, hopping over the dandelion, which is in the background now. I still don't get much fir or birch from this, and I'm disappointed about that. I wanted more wood in here. It seems like a bare peep of wood as the lowest bottom note. eta: about two and a half hours later, the only scent left on my wrist is the softness of dandelion, backed by whispers of birch next to my skin. Throw: I can just smell it from my wrist when I'm typing, like an afterthought. I think this one is going to be a pretty "personal" scent, one that keeps close. Overall: This is not what I was expecting. I like it, I really like it a lot -- but I'm not certain if I should've sprung for a bottle before getting a decant. It's much more a green floral than a wood scent, and I think I was hoping for more wood. C'est la vie! Keep or Swap?: I think I should've stuck with a decant on this one. I like it, but I don't LOVE it. A little more wear and I'll be sure about it.
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Terminal sugar rush. A little goblin's candy bag, upended. Smushed candy corn, rock candy dust, marshmallow gunk, strawberry goo, spun blue sugar, globs of salt water taffy, and lint. In bottle: This smells sweet, gooey, and cavity-inducing. Lots of sugary, chewy candy with a hint of powdery sugar and strawberry. Immediately on skin: The first thing that hits me when I smell this is that it reminds me a lot of La Befana. It has that thick, sugary, caramelized fruitiness I get from La Befana. There’s a bit of sweet sugary powderiness, and really rich fruity candy. Then it separates a bit and I get a clean cotton undertone under all the candy and a hint of strawberry. After a little while: As this settles, the thick caramelized feel fades. This becomes more of a smooth, sugary blend with hints of strawberry, fruity sweet powderiness, and poofy marshmallow over a light base of clean cotton. If it sounds sweet, it is… but not overly so. The strawberry and hint of cotton add a nice balance. Overall Impressions: This is a really complex, sweet, sugary blend with a nice balance to it. However, I love sweeter blends so this blend is definitely for me. It’s rich but not thick and caramelly or something like that. It’s more of a sugar blend with hints of fruitiness and a light amount of cotton in the background. I think that people who enjoy blends like Sugar Skull and La Befana will enjoy this, but it definitely holds it’s own.
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In the dark shadow of the grove, on the margin of the brook, he beheld something huge, misshapen, black and towering. It stirred not, but seemed gathered up in the gloom, like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the traveller. The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his head with terror. What was to be done? To turn and fly was now too late; and besides, what chance was there of escaping ghost or goblin, if such it was, which could ride upon the wings of the wind? Summoning up, therefore, a show of courage, he demanded in stammering accents-"Who are you?" He received no reply. He repeated his demand in a still more agitated voice. Still there was no answer. Once more he cudgelled the sides of the inflexible Gunpowder, and, shutting his eyes, broke forth with involuntary fervor into a psalm tune. Just then the shadowy object of alarm put itself in motion, and, with a scramble and a bound, stood at once in the middle of the road. Though the night was dark and dismal, yet the form of the unknown might now in some degree be ascertained. He appeared to be a horseman of large dimensions, and mounted on a black horse of powerful frame. He made no offer of molestation or sociability, but kept aloof on one side of the road, jogging along on the blind side of old Gunpowder, who had now got over his fright and waywardness. Ichabod, who had no relish for this strange midnight companion, and bethought himself of the adventure of Brom Bones with the Galloping Hessian, now quickened his steed, in hopes of leaving him behind. The stranger, however, quickened his horse to an equal pace. Ichabod pulled up, and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind-the other did the same. His heart began to sink within him; he endeavored to resume his psalm tune, but his parched tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and he could not utter a stave. There was something in the moody and dogged silence of this pertinacious companion, that was mysterious and appalling. It was soon fearfully accounted for. On mounting a rising ground, which brought the figure of his fellow-traveller in relief against the sky, gigantic in height, and muffled in a cloak, Ichabod was horror-struck, on perceiving that he was headless!-but his horror was still more increased, on observing that the head, which should have rested on his shoulders, was carried before him on the pommel of the saddle; his terror rose to desperation; he rained a shower of kicks and blows upon Gunpowder; hoping, by a sudden movement, to give his companion the slip-but the spectre started full jump with him. Away then they dashed, through thick and thin; stones flying, and sparks flashing at every bound. Ichabod's flimsy garments fluttered in the air, as he stretched his long lanky body away over his horse's head, in the eagerness of his flight. The scent of fear, and terrifying pursuit: wind-whipped, chilly night air, oppressive black pine, globs of dark opopponax, and bleak cedar, and distant, unreachable church incense. I've never done a first review before. Review: The label on this is all dark and blue-y artwork. It's definitely gorgeous. So far I am really into these Sleepy Hollow bottles' artwork! In the Bottle: High, cold, forests. I'm not getting much incense in the bottle. It's definitely dark and sleek, absolutely reminiscent of fear itself. Wet: Hello ozone! This smells WONDERFUL wet, it's got a ton of throw and the woods are really coming together. The church incense is barely lurking, it's probably feeling a little swallowed by the opopponax. For the record? I love opopponax. This scent is heavy, almost like it's bearing down on you with the ferocity of its chill. Drydown: Frankincense? Is that frankincense? It smells a bit like mass, with which I am much more than down. On the drydown it seems like that distant incense is coming a little closer, but it's remaining high, cold, and shrouded in forests. I am in love with this. Throw: Good-to-strong. It starts off with this awesome POW and on the drydown it's still strong, but it's not slapping my surroundings with its might. Overall: FAN-BLOODY-TASTIC. This is everything I had hoped for and more. Keep or Swap?: I'm keeping this so hard I might buy a second bottle.
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Another of his sources of fearful pleasure was, to pass long winter evenings with the old Dutch wives, as they sat spinning by the fire, with a row of apples roasting and spluttering along the hearth, and listen to their marvellous tales of ghosts and goblins, and haunted fields, and haunted brooks, and haunted bridges, and haunted houses, and particularly of the headless horseman, or galloping Hessian of the Hollow, as they sometimes called him. He would delight them equally by his anecdotes of witchcraft, and of the direful omens and portentous sights and sounds in the air, which prevailed in the earlier times of Connecticut; and would frighten them woefully with speculations upon comets and shooting stars; and with the alarming fact that the world did absolutely turn round, and that they were half the time topsy-turvy! Dried orange peels floating in simmering cider, roasted apples, smoldering firewood, chimney smoke, sassafras beer, warm hawthorn wood, and oakmoss. In bottle: This smells of apple cider with some evergreen type trees in the background. Immediately on skin: This is the spiced cider scent I’ve been waiting for. It isn’t pure cider, but that’s what the heart of this scent is. Floating on top are cinnamon sticks and orange peels. In the background floats dry, warm woods and a hint of smoke. After a little while: This doesn’t change much as I wear it. I think it just becomes a bit more blended and the wood doesn’t stick out as much any more. This is a wonderfully warm, spicy apple cider scent with a lightly smoky, woody background. It mostly still smells of cider with orange peels and spices (primarily cinnamon). The wood adds a bit of dryness in the background, and I sense the oakmoss as well but that blends completely in with everything else. Overall Impressions: I have wished and hoped for a bpal cider scent, and this is it: warm, spiced cider with hints of oranges and cinnamon and the other autumn notes lingering secretly in the background. It’s a toasty, cooked apple that doesn’t turn to perfume on me like the other bpal apple notes seem to. It’s very well blended and perfect for autumn lovers like myself. A total winner!!
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The sequestered situation of this church seems always to have made it a favorite haunt of troubled spirits. It stands on a knoll, surrounded by locust-trees and lofty elms, from among which its decent whitewashed walls shine modestly forth, like Christian purity beaming through the shades of retirement. A gentle slope descends from it to a silver sheet of water, bordered by high trees, between which, peeps may be caught at the blue hills of the Hudson. To look upon its grass-grown yard, where the sunbeams seem to sleep so quietly, one would think that there at least the dead might rest in peace. On one side of the church extends a wide woody dell, along which raves a large brook among broken rocks and trunks of fallen trees. Over a deep black part of the stream, not far from the church, was formerly thrown a wooden bridge; the road that led to it, and the bridge itself, were thickly shaded by overhanging trees, which cast a gloom about it, even in the daytime; but occasioned a fearful darkness at night. This was one of the favorite haunts of the headless horseman; and the place where he was most frequently encountered. Overgrown dark green bullrush, midnight roses, dwarf St. John's Wort, frankincense, blackberry leaf, and moss-covered, half-buried tree bark. No thread in sight that I could click my mouse on, so I guess I'm going first! I must first say that I've been obsessed with The Legend of Sleepy Hollow since I was a wee one (I remember gleefully tormenting my friends when I was maybe 7ish by telling the story over and over again at sleepovers, complete with voices and frequent pauses to build dramatic suspense - and they say goth is a phase ), so this is hands-down my most favorite Halloween sub-theme (or probably any special series set) yet. I had to be frugal, though, and could only nab up a few to try initially. With the squee-ing out of the way (for now), let me set the stage for our tale... Do I sense movement in the trees? {Wet}: kinda herbal and sweet with a hint of nuttiness. Maybe that's the bark. Was that neighing or someone screaming? {First applied}: I can smell it on my arm as I type, so it definitely has decent throw. It's bright and clean. Not necessarily soapy, but much cheerier than I'd expected. The Hessian approaches {Drying (Dying?)}: The blend starts to mellow substantially. Something arises which almost smells like apple to my nose. But I'm guessing it's the roses mingling with the blackberry (naughty things). Nothing stands out as particularly sharp or potent, though. If you've heard the swish of the blade, I'm afraid it's too late {Final Thoughts}: After it dries, I'm left with moss and slight sweetness (the blackberry is goooooood) and fallen leaves and a faint memory of incense and everything that makes this season perfection. The scent is nicely unisex. Not too heavy either. It starts to cling much more closely to the skin and is merely wafting around pleasantly at this point instead of jumping out in surprise as before. A fitting fragrance for dusky Autumn tale-telling by firelight... punctuated by the slightest underscore of heavy horses' hooves echoing through the distant woods.
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Hay absolute, sun-baked pumpkin rind, twisting vines, and the tiniest sparkle of gleaming metal. The sun baked pumpkin is the most apparent scent, but the hay and the vines are definitely there. I don't detect the tiny sparkle of metal till I've had the scent on a good long while. On me, this is definitely the most pumpkiny of the pumpkin patch. Throw is light to moderate. Much nicer than actually sorting through a haystack for a needle. I have been desperately seeking Hay Absolute, so I blame that for my splurge. I have enjoyed every single one of the pumpkins! They were all very different from each other, and even the ones I feared would not work on my skin, worked mysteriously well. I regret nothing!
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I Soon we will sink in the frigid darkness Good-bye, brightness of our too short summers! I already hear the fall in distress Of the wood falling in the paved courtyard. Winter will invade my being: anger, Hatred, chills, horror, hard and forced labor, And, like the sun in its iced inferno, My heart is but a red and frozen floe. I hear with shudders each weak limb that falls. The scaffold will have no louder echo. My spirit is like a tower that yields Under the tireless and heavy ram blow. It seems, lulled by this monotonous sound, Somewhere a coffin is hastily nailed, For whom? Summer yesterday, autumn now! This mysterious noise sounds like a farewell. II I love the greenish light of your long eyes, Sweet beauty, but all is bitter today. Nothing, not love, the boudoir or the hearth Is dearer than the sunshine on the sea. Still love me, tender heart! Be a mother Even to the ingrate, to the wicked, Lover, sister, ephemeral sweetness Of fall's glory or of the setting sun. Short-lived task! The tomb awaits, merciless. Ah! Let me, my head resting on your knees, Savor, regretting the white hot summer, The autumn's last rays yellow and tender. The scent of the year's fall and the setting sun, ominous and foreboding: dried leaves, charred wood, blood musk, amber, khus, and Nicotiana tabacum. Dearest Mods: If a thread for chant d'automne exists, I apologize; I searched and did not find one under this heading. Thanks! This scent is like a lighter version of Death in Autumn, and for that I love it so! The commonalities between the two oils are leaves (dried/dead), khus, galangal, and amber, so it does not surprise. Not as heavily draped with florals or plants, not as strong a throw, but this to me embodies the feeling of Autumn. This is autumn for the lover of this season, the lengthening hours of twilight, dimmer light and stronger winds, the colors of brick and wood, lengthening shadows on a lonesome walk. I can't give you much for actual non-metaphorical scents - this one just scoops me up into a world of feeling and nostalgia. For notes I would give sweet woodsmoke and light cologne. The scent does not change from initial application to drydown, and the throw is medium to strong. Love xo!
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In Bolivia, many people hold to the tradition of keeping the skulls of their ancestors with them in their homes, caring for their remains. It is believed that each person has seven souls, and one of those souls stays with the skull after death, enabling a spirit to grant protection and prophetic dreams to their descendants, and to bless their families with good health and prosperity. The Bolivian Fiesta de las Natitas, or Dia de los Natitas, is a day of honor for these ancestors. Their skulls are dressed with fragrant blossoms, and offerings of cocoa leaves, alcohol, and cigarettes are made. White sandalwood, beeswax, and frankincense crowned by hydrangea, rose, and kantuta blossoms, dressed with tobacco, cocoa leaves and flowers from the sacred Cactus of the Four Winds. This is Roses, covered by sweet roses, with a side of roses and then roses for dessert. I really can't smell anything else wet. On this is one of the rare rose bpals that doesn't turn to burnt rubber on my skin - Score! As it dries I can see the hydrangea peaking and doing a slow dance with the roses, just a lovely heady floral
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A BLADE OF GRASS Said a blade of grass to an autumn leaf, "You make such a noise falling! You scatter all my winter dreams." Said the leaf indignant, "Low-born and low-dwelling! Songless, peevish thing! You live not in the upper air and you cannot tell the sound of singing." Then the autumn leaf lay down upon the earth and slept. And when spring came she waked again -- and she was a blade of grass. And when it was autumn and her winter sleep was upon her, and above her through all the air the leaves were falling, she muttered to herself, "O these autumn leaves! They make such a noise! They scatter all my winter dreams." Autumn leaves scattered among blades of grass. Dear Readers, I am delighted to be able to present to you, in honor of this lovely scent, a long-lost addition to Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass. What many people do not know is that in addition to the ground-breaking Trancendentalist piece "Song of Myself", Whitman also wrote another, shorter poem titled "Smell of Myself". Whitman had to publish the first edition of Leaves of Grass with his own money, and thus seems to have chopped out a number of interesting works in order to cut down on the expense. The fate of many of these poems, including "I Thought I Left My Keys Here", "The Rabbits Are Ruining My Garden", and "I've a Stain on My Shirt", remains unknown. A recent private auction in Lithuania has brought this gem back to light, however, as well as Whitman's long-rumored but nary confirmed obsession with essential oil-based perfumes. Without further ado: Smell of Myself I sniff myself; and what I smell, I assume you do too. For every atomizer belonging to me, as good has sprayed on you. I loaf about a bit, I loaf and observe the scent of a spear of summer grass. My house and my rooms are full of perfumes--the shelves are crowded overflowing with them! I breathe the fragrance myself, and know it and like it; The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I'll get longer wear out of the oils and so shall not cut it. The atmosphere is not a perfume, which is a pity. I shall use my lovely green scent to remedy this. Ah yes! It is in my nose forever, I am in love with it. I will close all my curtains, become undisgiused and naked, I am mad for it to be slathered about my person. The scent of the grasses, echoing, playful, bright, sunny summer grasses, reminding me of summer lawns, of playful days and evenings passed, the passing of summer games in the yard The sniff of autumn leaves, some green and some dry Of the cooler evenings just beginning, the play of longer shadows on the ground, of winds whispering cleanly through the colorful trees. It is the smell of health, of the outdoors, the sharp, green, leafy scent of nature itself. Have you smelled the grasses blowing in the wind? Or the bright, calming, whistling autumn leaves? Have you found your perfect grassy scent? I have, I have!
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PUMPKIN V Pumpkin with cranberry, strawberry, red musk, red rose, rosehip, frankincense, fig, jasmine, and carnation. I was worried about the rose, and all I can say is if the rose is as quiet in the rest of the Halloween blends as it is in this one I will be a very VERY happy sniffer. Ten minutes in and no rose screaming. No jasmine screaming either. What I have on my skin after ten minutes is a well behaved whiff of berries, frankincense, and just a little rose. I think I may even be able to smell the carnation. I can't seem to find the pumpkin, but, I don't mind. This is a rule breaker scent on my skin, as I should NOT be able to wear this and it seems to be behaving. So far. *crosses fingers* This is a very nice, subtle, mostly berry and fruit scent. Light to moderate throw. I can't say what it reminds me of because I don't have anything like it...or nothing like it that I could wear. =)
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KATRINA VAN TASSEL … and though he had seen many spectres in his time, and been more than once beset by Satan in divers shapes, in his lonely perambulations, yet daylight put an end to all these evils; and he would have passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of the devil and all his works, if his path had not been crossed by a being that causes more perplexity to mortal man than ghosts, goblins, and the whole race of witches put together, and that was-a woman. Among the musical disciples who assembled, one evening in each week, to receive his instructions in psalmody, was Katrina Van Tassel, the daughter and only child of a substantial Dutch farmer. She was a blooming lass of fresh eighteen; plump as a partridge; ripe and melting and rosy cheeked as one of her father's peaches, and universally famed, not merely for her beauty, but her vast expectations. She was withal a little of a coquette, as might be perceived even in her dress, which was a mixture of ancient and modern fashions, as most suited to set off her charms. She wore the ornaments of pure yellow gold, which her great-great-grandmother had brought over from Saardam, the tempting stomacher of the olden time; and withal a provokingly short petticoat, to display the prettiest foot and ankle in the country round. White rose and honeyed cream. Oh, I am so excited that Beth made a another blend that showcases white roses (Ouija is my current fave in this category)! Katrina's white rose is fresh but light, distictly "white", with the honeyed cream note making adding depth and sweetness. There is not a trace of sourness that sometimes happens with milky notes on me. It sits very close to my skin and becomes one with it, as if I became young, innocent and lovely. She's like Alice's pale, shy little sister. It reminds me, also, of Brambleberry's Basmati Rice scent, which does not smell at all like the name suggests... For being such a light skin scent it has suprisingly long wearlength (and I really eat up scent). The absolute drydown is really my favorite...soft, slightly sweet, and lush, like a virgin O.
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Truly the scent of autumn itself -- damp woods, fir needle, and black patchouli with the gentlest touches of warm pumpkin, clove, nutmeg, allspice, sweet red apple and mullein. There are so many notes here I seem to get something with each squirt. The spices are the strongest notes, and are balanced with the crisp apple and the mellow mullein. And then sometimes it smells like a fruity, spiced pumpkin. It's like the Samhain oil, but with a different manifestation of it with every spray. Very rich and warm...very lovely.
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A tribute to a somehat nefarious and truly notorious ingredient in New Orleans spellcrafting. It is employed in hoodoo rootwork for various reasons, primarily in spells of protection, “tricking” your enemies, binding, and even love magick. The graves are chosen based on the type of working, and are determined by the type of spirit that lies there and the manner of their demise. Payment is always required in the form of offerings to the deceased. This is the scent of pure graveyard dust, spattered with grave loam and dusted lightly with tombstone moss. Normally, I don't review a scent until I've had it sit on my skin for at least one day, to get to know all its nuances. Often, that's not really enough; after using a scent for weeks I'm still finding new facets of its personality. But in this case, even though I've only sniffed Graveyard Dirt on the glass wand in the tester bottle, I simply must make an exception. (I didn't purchase only because I'm on a very tight budget and forced myself to pick just one 5 ml, and Bacchanalia is discontinued so Bacchanalia it had to be. Next visit.) Graveyard Dirt is amazing. I'm convinced that actual bargaining with earth sprites must be involved here, because somehow Beth has captured that freshly turned loam, just before it rains scent in a bottle. Demeter's "Dirt" fragrance lies awake at night, crying, because it isn't Beth's Graveyard Dirt. She might have just as easily called it "Mother Earth". She might have called it "The Dark of the Grave and the Dark of the Womb are the Same Dark". It's rich, sensual, comforting; it's like chocolate cake if chocolate cake were made of earth. It makes me want to curl up in the bosom of the Mother and go to sleep. It's actually making me reconsider my wish to be cremated and scattered over the ocean as part of a fireworks display and look into green burial instead. Usually, when people invite me to a ritual to invoke a particular element, it's Water; but if anyone ever asks me to "do" Earth you bet your booty I know what I'm going to wear. In fact, I may use this in meditation and spellwork to deepen my connection with that element. I'll also encourage my students to do the same, if they can get the bottle out of my grasping fist without me biting their hands off. [description added & moved from black broom exclusives to limited editions after discussing it with beth ~qs]
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The cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his person. He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weather-cock, perched upon his spindle neck, to tell which way the wind blew. To see him striding along the profile of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering about him one might have mistaken him for the genius of famine descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield. . . . From his half itinerant life, also, he was a kind of travelling gazette, carrying the whole budget of local gossip from house to house; so that his appearance was always greeted with satisfaction. He was, moreover, esteemed by the women as a man of great erudition, for he had read several books quite through, and was a perfect master of Cotton Mather's history of New England Witchcraft, in which, by the way, he most firmly and potently believed. He was, in fact, an odd mixture of small shrewdness and simple credulity. His appetite for the marvellous, and his powers of digesting it, were equally extraordinary; and both had been increased by his residence in this spellbound region. No tale was too gross or monstrous for his capacious swallow. It was often his delight, after his school was dismissed in the afternoon, to stretch himself on the rich bed of clover, bordering the little brook that whimpered by his school-house, and there con over old Mather's direful tales, until the gathering dusk of the evening made the printed page a mere mist before his eyes. Then, as he wended his way, by swamp and stream and awful woodland, to the farmhouse where he happened to be quartered, every sound of nature, at that witching hour, fluttered his excited imagination: the moan of the whip-poor-will from the hill-side; the boding cry of the tree-toad, that harbinger of storm; the dreary hooting of the screech-owl, or the sudden rustling in the thicket of birds frightened from their roost. The fire-flies, too, which sparkled most vividly in the darkest places, now and then startled him, as one of uncommon brightness would stream across his path; and if, by chance, a huge blockhead of a beetle came winging his blundering flight against him, the poor varlet was ready to give up the ghost, with the idea that he was struck with a witch's token. His only resource on such occasions, either to drown thought, or drive away evil spirits, was to sing psalm tunes;-and the good people of Sleepy Hollow, as they sat by their doors of an evening, were often filled with awe, at hearing his nasal melody, "in linked sweetness long drawn out," floating from the distant hill, or along the dusky road. Dusty black wool, tea with cream, black pepper, muguet, and beeswax candle drippings. In bottle: Deliciously insencey. The pepper lends edge. The wool, tea, cream combination is very pleasant. The label is insanely cute, BTW. Wet: Edgier with a bit more muget. I am thinking it’s actually the lily of the valley that was coming off as incense in the bottle when mixed with the beeswax. This stunning, really in a quiet sneak up on you sort of way. It is more floral than I was expecting, but the whole is so well blended, I don’t particularly mind. Dry: heartbreakingly beautiful floral that simply won’t suit me. This is very sad indeed as it’s that yummy.
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It was the very witching time of night that Ichabod, heavy-hearted and crest-fallen, pursued his travel homewards, along the sides of the lofty hills which rise above Tarry Town, and which he had traversed so cheerily in the afternoon. The hour was dismal as himself. Far below him, the Tappan Zee spread its dusky and indistinct waste of waters, with here and there the tall mast of a sloop, riding quietly at anchor under the land. In the dead hush of midnight, he could even hear the barking of the watch dog from the opposite shore of the Hudson; but it was so vague and faint as only to give an idea of his distance from this faithful companion of man. Now and then, too, the long-drawn crowing of a cock, accidentally awakened, would sound far, far off from some farmhouse away among the hills-but it was like a dreaming sound in his ear. No signs of life occurred near him, but occasionally the melancholy chirp of a cricket, or perhaps the guttural twang of a bull-frog, from a neighboring marsh, as if sleeping uncomfortably, and turning suddenly in his bed. Moonflower, night-blooming cereus, white hellebore, English ivy, monkshood, angel's trumpet, oleander, and eastern hemlock. I'm not familiar with all the notes but I'll do my best to review. Witching Time starts off moonflower, a sharp floral, and lots of greenery underneath. Thankfully whatever the sharp floral is fades or settles and its now moonflower over lush greenery, of which I can pick out the hemlock and a little ivy. The drydown so far reminds me a bit of The Gibbous Moon but this is a bit more potent, greener, darker and more mysterious. I'm really enjoying this so far and hope the rest of the Halloweenies are as good!
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PUMPKIN III Pumpkin with pink grapefruit, lemon verbena, yuzu, lime, parsley, and mint. In the bottle it smells tart. On me, wet, the pink grapefruit shows up first. Oh, yummy citrus! My mouth is watering. Lemon, lime, and grapefruit, with the lemon verbena backing it up. I can't smell any pumpkin yet, or parsley, or mint, and I have no idea what Yuzu is...*goes to look it up* Ah, another citrus, similar to a grapefruit with overtones of mandarin. So far this is all citrus on me, but, very tasty citrus. Moderate to strong throw.
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PUMPKIN II Pumpkin with black musk, leather accord, tonka, teak, orange wood, and opoponax. I think I could sum this up with: Pumpkin Perversion. Well, minus the wine. Perversion is the closest general catalog scent to this, though. On my skin, this is a rich, decadent, smooth, tasty scent. Even with the wood and leather, it smells like my arm should taste excellent. I adore it! My only problem is that it doesn't last as long as Pumpkin I. That lasted over 12 hours on me, and this one only lasts 4 or so...but, mmmm. I do smell the pumpkin as well as the leather and woods. On me, the black musk and the tonka are sweetening and giving the scent a lovely rich layer. On me, medium to strong throw. Rich and sweet, bordering on foody, even though the only edible ingredient is the pumpkin.
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The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this enchanted region, and seems to be commander-in-chief of all the powers of the air, is the apparition of a figure on horseback without a head. It is said by some to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried away by a cannon-ball, in some nameless battle during the revolutionary war; and who is ever and anon seen by the country folk hurrying along in the gloom of night, as if on the wings of the wind. His haunts are not confined to the valley, but extend at times to the adjacent roads, and especially to the vicinity of a church at no great distance. Indeed, certain of the most authentic historians of those parts, who have been careful in collecting and collating the floating facts concerning this spectre, allege that the body of the trooper, having been buried in the church-yard, the ghost rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly quest of his head; and that the rushing speed with which he sometimes passes along the Hollow, like a midnight blast, is owing to his being belated, and in a hurry to get back to the church-yard before daybreak. Such is the general purport of this legendary superstition, which has furnished materials for many a wild story in that region of shadows; and the spectre is known, at all the country firesides, by the name of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow. Grave moss and bone-white sandalwood, with vetiver, gunpowder, artillery shrapnel, and blood. Few things are more lovely to me, in autumn or any time, than vetiver and sandalwood. The slightly burnt, sweetly earthy quality of vetiver and the dry, fragrant sandalwood are a perfect match. They are also the most prominent notes in this blend, which initially reminds me of the smoky wood qualities of last year's Death of Autumn. A few tufts of powdery, dry moss make this a blend you might want to nuzzle, on the right person. Smoky burnt earthen vetiver with layers of dry moss and wood, and perhaps just the slightest metallic hint lilting over these earthy-brown notes of blasted earth and ominous smoke. I worried that there would be much more prominent, cologne-like metallic notes, but nope, it's all lovely earthy burntness! Add another to the magnificent vetiver ensemble. Distinctly autumnal in the family of Death of Autumn and Samhainophobia.
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Among these the most formidable was a burly, roaring, roystering blade, of the name of Abraham, or, according to the Dutch abbreviation, Brom Van Brunt, the hero of the country round, which rang with his feats of strength and hardihood. He was broad-shouldered and double-jointed, with short curly black hair, and a bluff, but not unpleasant countenance, having a mingled air of fun and arrogance. From his Herculean frame and great powers of limb, he had received the nickname of BROM BONES, by which he was universally known. He was famed for great knowledge and skill in horsemanship, being as dexterous on horseback as a Tartar. He was foremost at all races and cock-fights; and, with the ascendancy which bodily strength acquires in rustic life, was the umpire in all disputes, setting his hat on one side, and giving his decisions with an air and tone admitting of no gainsay or appeal. He was always ready for either a fight or a frolic; but had more mischief than ill-will in his composition; and, with all his overbearing roughness, there was a strong dash of waggish good humor at bottom. He had three or four boon companions, who regarded him as their model, and at the head of whom he scoured the country, attending every scene of feud or merriment for miles round. In cold weather he was distinguished by a fur cap, surmounted with a flaunting fox's tail; and when the folks at a country gathering descried this well-known crest at a distance, whisking about among a squad of hard riders, they always stood by for a squall. Sometimes his crew would be heard dashing along past the farmhouses at midnight, with whoop and halloo, like a troop of Don Cossacks; and the old dames, startled out of their sleep, would listen for a moment till the hurry-scurry had clattered by, and then exclaim, "Ay, there goes Brom Bones and his gang!" The neighbors looked upon him with a mixture of awe, admiration, and good will; and when any madcap prank, or rustic brawl, occurred in the vicinity, always shook their heads, and warranted Brom Bones was at the bottom of it. The butchest, manliest of musks covered in well-worn leather. In bottle: sweet dusky leather On skin: woo, there's a blast of swarthy musk, but it's tempered by the dry slightly-sweet leather Half-hour later: pretty much the same, the smutty musk anchoring the dry leather In conclusion: the simple ingredients of dark musk and sweet dusty leather make an awesome combination. The musk isn't too masculine on me either; it's deep and dreamy. This ends up as an acceptable dupe of Dead Man's Hand, one of my favorite uniquely-BPAL blends. I knew I'd love this one!
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Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells. Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours. Where are the songs of spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, - While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The red-breat whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. Mist and mellow fruitfulness: mist-swirled, moss-covered bark and dry red leaves, apple pulp and knotty galangal, with poppy juice and nutmeat. I'm still all a'flutter over my Hollows and this whole starting a new thread thing is rather new, but practice makes perfect, right? {Wet}: Sweet and buttery with a hint of apple-y goodness. {First Applied}: Very much a dessert fragrance. Apple with dustings of spice and some buttery crust (more than likely the nutmeat) to round it out. {Drying}: Ahhhh, so there's the rest of it. Definitely picking up on the leaves now. There's an almost peppery, yet woody scent coming out as well (which seems in almost direct opposition to the toothsome turnout beforehand). I haven't tried any of the other Lab blends with galangal in them, so I'm new to this element. I've heard it can be reminiscent to pine and fir, though. And that all fits. But not in an overwhelming, TREE ATTACK! sort of way. {Final Thoughts}: A strange amalgamation of the bakery and the bonfire. Like quickly-melting caramel apples served over a plate of smoldering, burning leaves. Pleasant but peculiar. Certainly autumnal. Intriguingly unique. Worth the journey in full. Just make sure to clean any leftover foliage stems out of your teeth afterwards! ;}
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GUNPOWDER That he might make his appearance before his mistress in the true style of a cavalier, he borrowed a horse from the farmer with whom he was domiciliated, a choleric old Dutchman, of the name of Hans Van Ripper, and, thus gallantly mounted, issued forth, like a knight-errant in quest of adventures. But it is meet I should, in the true spirit of romantic story, give some account of the looks and equipments of my hero and his steed. The animal he bestrode was a broken-down plough-horse, that had outlived almost every thing but his viciousness. He was gaunt and shagged, with a ewe neck and a head like a hammer; his rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted with burrs; one eye had lost its pupil, and was glaring and spectral; but the other had the gleam of a genuine devil in it. Still he must have had fire and mettle in his day, if we may judge from the name he bore of Gunpowder. He had, in fact, been a favorite steed of his master's, the choleric Van Ripper, who was a furious rider, and had infused, very probably, some of his own spirit into the animal; for, old and broken-down as he looked, there was more of the lurking devil in him than in any young filly in the country. Carrot peelings, hay, chaff, molasses, maple oats, red apples, stable wood, and musk. I love the label, but, I am still horse crazy to some extent. In the bottle, grains, maybe the carrots. On me, wet, I smell the molasses and maple oats, and then the apples. These are nice apples; they smell crunchy, and I don't know how that is managed with just a scent. Drying, the scent is all wholesome grain mash. I imagine it would be even more foody to a horse. There's still a whisp of sweetness from the carrots, apples, and molasses. Of all of those, the apples fade first. After a couple hours, the foodyness of it fades and I am left with mostly the hay, chaff and stable wood. The chaff and wood, though, last for hours on my skin.
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JOHN BARLEYCORN There was three men come out o' the west their fortunes for to try, And these three men made a solemn vow, John Barleycorn must die, They plowed, they sowed, they harrowed him in, throwed clods upon his head, And these three men made a solemn vow, John Barleycorn was dead. Barley, beer, blood, and whiskey. In the bottle, beer. I like the sheaf of grain on the bottle as well. Wet on me, beer, barley, the whiff of whiskey, and just a slight tang of salt that might be the blood. Drying, the scent settles into mostly barley and beer.I do get a whiff of the whiskey every once in a while though. The whiskey is more apparent in the throw, and the barley is most apparent on the skin. It's a simple scent, and basic. Also very very tasty. I'm a sucker for the scent of beer, grains and breads. I like this scent, and I only have two complaints. One is that it could be stronger. I suppose this might be a good thing if you didn't want to smell too strongly of alchohol. The second is that it doesn't last nearly long enough. But, long enough would be all day long for me. I suppose I'll just have to slather and reapply.
