Don't you just love those occasional, 'if you don't like it, you can bite me' sort of days?
That's what I'm talking about.
Timbuktu starts out clean, but not 'squeaky clean.' More 'freshly chopped wood' clean. Very early into the heart notes, vetiver and and cardboard make an appearance, walking hand-in-hand, looking dreamily at each other. One must wonder what they've been up to.
Timbuktu's journey is not predictable - that's the unstrung part. At each stage, I anticipate what's coming next, but I'm always wrong. Just when I'm certain we're headed for something warm, Timbuktu takes a different turn, getting even drier than before.
Timbuktu is a very bad minder.
The final drydown reminds me of being at the zoo on a warm summer day. One part animal, one part hot concrete and one part freshly cut hay. Sounds weird, but after the 'catching a greased pig' difficulty of defining it, Timbuktu settles into something kind of comforting.