Keeper of the Fields, his visage is still the stuff of nightmares. The
scent of a hot wind blowing through desolate, scorched, barren fields.
At first, Scarecrow reminded me of cleaning my stove while it's still hot, but accidentally spraying some of the cleaning fluid too close to the burner. Absolutely a scorched, wet-turned-dry, and harsh smell when first applied to my skin.
After a moment, though, Scarecrow is a slightly disturbing, oddly comforting blend of desiccation and dried grass - I can easily picture the stubble of a harvested crop, dried husks blowing across a Dust Bowl era field, and ground so thirsty it can barely offer its scent up to the stuffy-guy standing watch over it.
Half an hour later, this is soft and light, but with a definite presence. It's golden, but not in the limpid sense of Aureus or dusty in the wooden sense of Seance. I'm used to Oklahoma's red clay and the black earth of Nebraska, but this is the faded, sun-dried, and cracked yellow earth landscape of Roland Deschain in Stephen King's Gunslinger series.
I started out thinking I wouldn't be wearing this regularly, but I can't stop sniffing my wrist. It's going on my to-order list, without question.