The scent of spring grass, bottled

in

Kate Evans of Angela Flanders perfumery and Vicci Bentley collaborate on Lawn, a poetic new fragrance

“You could say poetry and perfume have similarities in evolution – the head, or the opener and the initial rush; the heart, or the experiences that qualify that; and the base, or what resonates. But what matters with both is emotional integrity,” says award-winning fragrance and beauty journalist (for How To Spend It, among others) and poet Vicci Bentley. Marrying the two has inspired Lawn, the first solo fragrance created by Kate Evans, daughter of the late, celebrated perfumer Angela Flanders, with whom she used to work, and based on Bentley’s poem These Gauzy Mornings.

A fresh, green fragrance, Lawn (£65 for 50ml EDT, £75 for 30ml EDP; available from Wednesday March 21) captures the image of a dewy garden seen across gauzy curtains stirring in the breeze before the heat of the day scorches through. To conjure such calm, Evans chose fresh top notes of black pepper and bergamot, while sappy-green galbanum and earthy patchouli evoke plants fresh with dew. Tuberose, jasmine and lemon balm at the heart unfold with the warmth of the wearer, just as the sun simmers through a misty dawn. The special limited edition flacons of EDT and EDP (50 of each) are presented with a copy of the poem and a description of the scent: an original Easter gift.

“The concept of Lawn bought something new to the range,” says Evans. “I’ve inherited this incredible legacy and I want it to live on. Sometimes, when I’m in the studio, I feel my mother is looking over my shoulder.”

These Gauzy Mornings

There’s a reason why you push your bed pillow-close

to the open window so that the cool, the light

bathes you awake five o’clock and eager

to leave diseased dreams and watch

the calm, silver sheet of the

dawning lawn catch the

unhurried tumble of

a petal’s feather curl

 

for in the blink of that first, not-quite time

 

you still believe in the lightness of your footfall

stepping out onto the fresh, the wet

beneath your soles, between your toes;

inhaling silver, tasting green as

each liquid call in the chorus

trickles down to touch the

newness in you

 

until the truth of the day scorches through