Its color is the same as dreams at sunset are made of, golden with amber shades. Then you get caught by the citrus from Avize, the seductive minerality of gypsum, as a continuous dance on tiptoe. A touch of camphor follows whispering, and it envelops you without ever overdoing it. Then talc which brings you back to the scents of your childhood, and a rose like in the garden where you stopped thinking. A touch of lavender, a crisp mirabelle and an innocent juicy peach, like the thread of perfume on the pillow next to yours on the bed the very next day you woke up alone.  Creamy bubbles, with an almost unheard of mouth feeling, that feeling that tears away all the pain, gives you peace of mind and caresses the spirit. If you stand still you taste stone, a basket full of fruits, and flowers on the field as a downhill path on the edge of a forest in the sun. It ends high but almost resigned, just to let you complete the picture with a part of you.
After all, all of the great masterpieces really require your participation, almost as if to invite you to dance with them, as if they were complete only with you and were designed especially for you.

Not true perhaps, but something we want to believe in, as we believe in dreams.

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZIsQPdC9YnY&feature=fvwrel[/youtube]