NIGHTS IN MOROCCO

Tonight he is careful, silent and slow.
He walks as if he was prowling through the hot wild Savannah. He takes his time.
He touches every blade of grass, feels for the roughness of fur, for the softness of wool. Slowly putting his palm into the bowl of spices.
He carefully plucks a flower, touching every single bright petal on it.
He walks quietly, as if in the middle of a ritual inside an old wooden church. No rush.
He knows he has to wait just a little longer for the sun to light up the wall that hides a story.

“…perfume that captures the essence of the desert and freedom”