Wood Mirage

I close my eyes and breathe. Before me opens a forest that belongs to no known land: a place suspended between light and shadow, where reality bends to the dream. The first breath washes over me like a blinding glow: citrus sparkling in the air, pierced by the lively tingle of ginger. It is as if the wind itself invites me to follow it, to lose myself beyond the boundary of the visible.

I move forward, and the silence fills with invisible presences. A spicy warmth that dances around me, a secret rose that brushes the skin, ritual smoke that veils the path and transforms every step into a sacred gesture. The breath of white wood sustains me, clear and rooted, like a path etched into the memory of nature.

Then the mirage takes shape. Leather whispers of strength and destiny, while amber and musks envelop me like a second skin, intimate and vibrant.

In that instant I understand: I am not simply walking through the forest. I am the forest, the mirage, the enigma that remains suspended in the air.