A Cup of Tea with Mum
Late 2026
A cup of Earl Grey and a plate of homemade cookies, in Mum's garden in the hills of Perth. I didn't know what I had then. I was young. But I have reflected enough on that day to build this beautiful scent. Mum is a great cook and a great gardener, and I sat in the middle of both without looking up.
The wattle over the table. Pink and grey galahs on the grass. The garden was full of edibles: rosemary for the roast lamb, a healthy, well-maintained lemon tree. All mixed with the most stunning natives that brought the birds and matched the hills around us.
Sitting here at peace with Mum, enjoying the sounds of nature and the smell of the clean air, looking at my favourite view of granite outcrops and the dry eucalypt national park, charred by nature's remembrance of who's boss. A whisper of chimney smoke. Wildflowers and boronia. A crisp, sunny day. I would give a lot to sit in it again, and stay.
The fragrance we built
You are sitting at the table under the wattle tree on a cool, sunny day. The garden is all around you: crisp air off the grass, sun on citrus and wattle dust, the clean smell of a morning after washing.
A whisper of smoke drifts from the chimney. Not a fire you can see. Just the house breathing behind you.
The tea comes to the table. Earl Grey, hot, steam and tannin, a little bitter the way good tea is, and the garden warms around it: rosemary and boronia, the lemon tree, the hills beyond.
Then it moves, the way the visit moves, and you are on your feet. Goodbye. Thanks for the cuppa, Mum. And as you turn to leave, it is the last thing you take with you: clean clothing, a fresh hug, warm skin and pressed cotton. The scent of a place that holds you and lets you go.
Perfumer · Justin Black