Scent profileGreen foliage, cedarwood, damp earth
Brazil lost an area the size of Panama last year. It started, as it usually does, with cattle ranchers cutting trees to clear pasture. The trees come down and in that moment the forest almost smells like you’ve just mowed the lawn. Wet foliage, broken wood, turned earth. The living scent of something enormous becoming something much smaller.
Then it sits. The cut timber dries in the sun for weeks, sometimes months. The surrounding forest dries with it — drought has seen to that. What was a rainforest becomes a tinderbox. Then someone strikes a match.
This candle is about the part before the fire — the green, alive smell of a forest that holds 1 in 10 of every species on Earth in the last moments it’s still a forest. That smell doesn’t last.
