Sunday Service
Stone/lid: Verde Jade, Rajasthan
As he slipped into the pew, he noted how soft the wood felt beneath his fingers, polished and worn from so many years of human touch. But the music was the same. The cool, oaky air of the church was the same. The smell—ageing paper, freshly mown grass—just the same. As much as time was hurtling by, it felt in the moment that nothing had changed.
Slip into a quiet, contemplative reverie. A return to old surroundings, respectful tailoring, and formal introductions. The worn leather of an heirloom wallet touched by divinely feminine antique rose, enlivened by old-world pepper & spice and carried by the rich resin of ancient frankincense. The fragrance of a ponderous stroll in wildflower season at the golden hour. The essence of eyes gazing across a vast burnt saffron horizon, feet planted in the aged earth.
Stone/lid: Verde Jade, Rajasthan
As he slipped into the pew, he noted how soft the wood felt beneath his fingers, polished and worn from so many years of human touch. But the music was the same. The cool, oaky air of the church was the same. The smell—ageing paper, freshly mown grass—just the same. As much as time was hurtling by, it felt in the moment that nothing had changed.
Slip into a quiet, contemplative reverie. A return to old surroundings, respectful tailoring, and formal introductions. The worn leather of an heirloom wallet touched by divinely feminine antique rose, enlivened by old-world pepper & spice and carried by the rich resin of ancient frankincense. The fragrance of a ponderous stroll in wildflower season at the golden hour. The essence of eyes gazing across a vast burnt saffron horizon, feet planted in the aged earth.