Love Notes & Field Observations: Frances
There are places where silence hums, where stone holds secrets and grass bends without sound. Frances is a scent that travels underground, through ancient tombs and wind-swept grasses — a relique of solitude.
There are places where silence is not emptiness but presence — ancient and enduring. Places where stone holds forgotten whispers, and moss clings to shadowed rock as though it remembers something we cannot. Frances is born of these places, meandering delicately in the long grasses of the hushed Calumet landscape. It moves beneath the earth, through limestone tombs and quiet prairies, existing not to be seen, but to be felt. A relique of solitude, of stillness, of breath exhaled and left suspended in memory.
To understand Frances is to understand the slow alchemy of quiet elements. Each note chosen not for boldness, but for subtle weight — the kind that lingers long after sound fades.
Juniper — The Silent Sentinel
Sharp, green, and bracing, juniper has long been burned to protect spaces and spirits. In ancient rituals, its smoke purified temples and homes, a silent guardian against unwelcome presences. Here, it is the breath of the prairie wind — clear and cold — a reminder that solitude can be both protection and refuge.
Hedione — The Whisper of Air
Almost intangible, Hedione is a molecule that recalls jasmine but with airier, more open radiance. It was once a laboratory discovery; now, it has become perfumery’s softest secret — the scent of light itself. In Frances, it is the moment between inhalation and memory, the luminous echo of something too delicate to name. The bright summer sun glittering onto the earth, warming the face of a young Frances through the rustling leaves.
Elemi — Resin of Reflection
Harvested from ancient trees, Elemi has perfumed cathedrals and apothecaries, its resinous aroma linking earth to the sacred. Burned in rites of passage, it carries wisdom beyond words. Above and below, Elemi is the warmth beneath stone and the brightness of the sun— quiet, steady, eternal— even when out of sight.
Bois de Rose — The Forgotten Letter
There was a time when rosewood oil was kept in glass vials, tucked beside handwritten letters and pressed petals. Softer than rose, tinged with wood and age, Bois de Rose speaks of longing folded away in secret places. In Frances, it recalls the strange intimacy of studying the rugged bark of old trees, tracing their gnarled roots with quiet reverence — as though by knowing their age and weight, we might understand something about the passing of time, and the tenderness it leaves behind.
Prairie Grass — The Earth’s Murmurs
Beneath it all lies prairie grass and moss — ancient, enduring, patient. Tree moss has been used in incense for centuries, binding rituals to the soil they stand upon. It speaks in whispers of roots and stone, of cycles long forgotten. In Frances, it grounds the air and resin, tethering memory to earth.
