Green

Clover smells like a sun-warmed meadow on a lazy summer afternoon. Imagine crushed green stems releasing a slightly sweet, herbaceous aroma—fresh like cut grass, but softer and almost powdery. There's a delicate floralness underneath, reminiscent of honey without being sticky, with whispers of vanilla and hay. It's gentle and approachable, never sharp or aggressive, evoking childhood memories of rolling through fields and clover chains made for bracelets.

Green

Fig leaf smells like you've just brushed past a fig tree on a sun-warmed Mediterranean afternoon. It's distinctly green—not the juicy sweetness of the fruit itself, but something fresher and more herbaceous. Imagine crushed green leaves with subtle woody undertones, a hint of vegetation, and an almost creamy, milky quality reminiscent of the latex that seeps from broken stems. There's an unexpected earthiness, too, like petrichor mixed with green tomato vine. It's fresh without being sharp, botanical without being medicinal.