Half Past Bloom

It was that quiet hour between full bloom and fading, when the petals begin to curl inward, not from loss, but from knowing. The garden had softened. The air was still, the colors warmer, the beauty quieter. And in that stillness, something sweeter emerged.

Half Past Bloom opens with a delicate breath of citrus petals, not tart or sharp, but tender. Like the memory of sunshine on your skin or the scent left behind when someone brushes past you with a smile you weren’t expecting. It’s floral with a twist of brightness, more petal than fruit, more feeling than flash.

The heart is where it lingers, a veil of wild currant mist drifting through a field of meadowsweet flowers. The currant adds a soft red tint to the air, gently juicy and barely sweet, like fruit caught in breeze. Silken petals round it out, smooth and creamy, giving the fragrance a polished, skin-like softness. There’s no loud declaration here, just a quiet unfolding, like a flower beginning to bow its head as the day turns gold.

The drydown is warm and comforting. Vanilla cream wraps the base in gentle sweetness, soft but never sticky. Soft woods hum quietly beneath, grounding the floral haze with a faint whisper of the earth. It feels like lace pressed between pages, or the last light through sheer curtains, delicate, but lasting.

Half Past Bloom smells like the warmth of a late afternoon garden, creamy petals, faded citrus, and the hush of wild blooms captured just before they slip away. A soft, poetic floral with a touch of fruit and a creamy, wood-kissed finish.

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