Green

Oakmoss smells like standing in an ancient forest after rain—earthy, slightly bitter, with a dry, woody undertone reminiscent of damp bark and lichen-covered stones. There's a faint greenness to it, almost herbaceous, mixed with something mineral and slightly musty, like opening a wooden chest that's been sealed for years. It's not fresh or sharp; rather, it's contemplative and deeply grounded, with whispers of leather and tea leaves underneath.

Green

Tarragon smells like a verdant whisper—imagine the anise-tinged greenery you'd encounter brushing past fresh herb gardens, but softer, more refined than fennel. There's a subtle sweetness reminiscent of liquorice root, layered beneath a crisp, almost peppery herbaceousness. It's the aroma released when you crush fresh tarragon leaves between your fingers: simultaneously sharp and velvety, with whispers of green apple and white pepper. Not aggressively spicy, but gently warming.