Green, green, intensely green. And black. Who can I trust and rely upon?

A white Cardamom pearls on a bursting Galbanum; Pink Pepper, cold and bitter, glides over lemony Nutmeg.  

 

Metallic dust, I smell still the smoky, nutty, envelopingly warm aroma of Fenugreek.

I am sure and yet I doubt.

 

I flee in a cocoon of Ambergris and Ambroxan, yet the smoke of Oud and Patchouli still finds me, confusing me, surrounding me.

 

Leather, Cypriol and the inevitable animality of Costus call to me like irresistible sirens, like echoes of my past, of the past that I flee, of the past that I am; yet still I feel in my heart, the serene and angelic song of Incense and Sandalwood, carried on wings of Muscone. I seem stark mute, inside I prate.

Evoking the conflicts between the past and the future of being, Opus VII brings harmony and recklessness together in a masterful green, animal and woody composition.