A dewdrop morning dream—where light falls like lace across an orchard in early autumn.

It begins with the crisp whisper of pear—not just any pear, but one kissed by the first chill of fall, caught in that exact moment between firmness and succulence. Melon, airy and translucent, drapes the pear in an iridescent sheen—an echo of morning mist over the rolling English countryside.

At its heart, a delicate symphony unfolds. White freesia, ethereal and almost watery in its elegance, glides gracefully alongside a wild climbing rose—petals blushing from the weight of early sun. This bloom isn’t powdered or perfumed—it feels real, as if you plucked it moments ago from a hedgerow kissed with dew.

Then, something unexpected: a grounding begins. Rhubarb, tart and green, crackles beneath the florals like autumn leaves underfoot, while patchouli and amber bring a soft, golden glow—like sunlight filtering through a stained-glass window. The dry-down is smooth and skin-warm, with white musk curling like a silk ribbon in the breeze.

There is a quiet poetry to Freesia—a romantic longing not unlike the verse of Keats, whose “Ode to Autumn” hummed in the background of this creation. Though contemporary in its elegance, it pays homage to a countryside walk, a ripe orchard, and the fleeting beauty of a perfect season—an aromatic nod to the muse behind Jo Malone’s English Pear & Freesia, now retold in a more delicate, golden tone.

Freesia is not just perfume. It’s a sonnet for the skin, a tender light that lingers long after the breeze has passed.