The dream behind the scent
I am at the edge of a valley. The air is crisp, cold enough to taste, with that ozonic clarity of fresh snow. Below me, the landscape lies under a crystalline layer of frost, like scattered glass in the weak morning light.
At the heart of the valley: a massive block of ice, lilac-white in the pale sun. Inside, I can make out a large flower. Its pristine white petals are pressed against the frozen walls, as if it has been waiting there for a very long time.
The climbing sun bathes the valley in warm yellow. I see water trickling down the sides of the block, turning into streams. As the ice thins the flower inside grows more vivid.
The last of the ice melts away. And where the flower
stood – a girl. Slowly, carefully, she moves her arms, as if feeling the air on
her skin for the first time, exploring her new freedom. Around her feet, white
flowers emerge: jasmine, magnolia, lily of the valley.
The air, so sharp just moments ago, is now softened by
a cashmere warmth. I watch the girl as she starts to dance.
Inspired by Mila’s dream
