The heat has passed, but it still lingers low in the grass. The leaves hang motionless, as if the garden itself is holding its breath. Everything feels quieter now — and in that quiet, the smallest sounds begin to bloom. A soft rustle deep in the green. Water spilling slowly from an old tin can. The faint smell of soil, warm and hidden beneath the shade of the tree.

The fig hangs heavy in the stillness — ripe, golden, touched by sun, slightly sticky, like hands after picking fruit. Its sweetness drifts through the air like the shadow of a leaf: hard to name, but impossible not to notice. Basil waits in a clay pot by the wall. Brush it with the hem of a dress, and it comes alive — sharp, green, as if briefly awakened. Even the silence in this garden has a scent.

Fig & Basil — a fragrance where the day slowly gives way to stillness.