Irish Leather - Memo Paris
It's one of those cold, stinging mornings. Pink pepper. The sun can barely make its way through the heavy grey clouds. Oil of muscatel grass. The wind creeps in under clothes. Juniper berries. Morning dew soaks the grass. Finally the stable, the wooden doors of the saddlery, the burning smell of leather, wood, amber and honey. A centuries-old perfume. Absolute of green mate. The sweet nitrite of the horse.
Smelling paleo oil. The scent of freedom. Leather gathers in the wind and
grass warms with wood. Absolute of tonka bean. Irish Leather gallops towards the horizon.
ABSOLUTE OF GREEN MATS