Citrus

Lemon blossom smells like standing beneath a Mediterranean lemon tree in spring—brighter and more delicate than the fruit itself. Imagine the zesty sharpness of fresh lemon peel mingling with white flowers: creamy, almost honeyed, with a subtle green leafiness underneath. It's simultaneously fresh and slightly powdery, like a sunny morning captured in scent. Less acidic than bottled lemon juice, it carries an ethereal, almost soapy cleanliness with whispers of neroli and subtle sweetness.

Woody

Woody notes smell like the heart of a forest distilled into essence. Imagine the warm, dry interior of a cedar wardrobe, the earthy grip of tree bark after rain, or the comforting scent of aged timber in an old library. They're neither sweet nor sharp—rather, they're grounding and substantial, with a slightly resinous, almost creaky quality. Think of pencil shavings, sandalwood's buttery softness, or the austere dryness of vetiver. These notes smell like nature's architecture: solid, enduring, and deeply familiar.