As I have already indicated, I started this Annayake week because I fell in love with Hanami, Tsukimi and Annayake pour Elle, and it was only those fragrances that I was initially planning to review. After I started writing the feature though, it seemed like such a shame to leave Natsumi and Yukimi out, to leave things incomplete, even though admittedly, I have not become enamored with them in the way I have with the rest. Today and tomorrow then, we shall visit summer and winter; together we will complete our walk through the seasons of Annayake. Natsumi is the fragrance of summer, and once again the name is indicative of the period the scent embodies. Natsumi means “beautiful summer” but the word can also be derivative of a verb, meaning “to pluck vegetables and greens”, creating a clever and thoughtful play with words, as the fragrance is identified as both vegetal and fruity. It represents a woman that is well organized and traditional.
I wanted to be transported to a summer festival with this perfume. I wanted to watch koi glistening in the bursts of light cast by fireworks. I wanted to smell the lightweight cotton of the summer kimonos, the yukata, blue and white, decorated with patterns of dragonflies or cranes. Instead, I find myself sprayed by light summer rain, high upon a mountaintop, lush and green. A burst of watermelon, it strikes my head like a red, juicy exclamation mark. “Why?!” I lament, and for a moment a child laughs giddily, reminding me that Japanese summer wouldn’t be the same without the traditional custom of splitting watermelons blindfolded at the beach, much like a crazy piñata game. I nod in understanding, but I am still 
baffled, for there is no sand beneath my feet, my toes are still protesting the wet feel of grass. It is chilly, so high on the mountains, I need a light cardigan. Mist surrounds the green peaks, everything is cool and fresh. The light is diffused by the summer clouds, but if I look down, shading my eyes out of habit, I see the cultivated fields, caressed by the sun. They are filled by ripe, blushing tomatoes, the sappy scent of their vines somehow wafts all the way up here. Just as I am starting to enjoy all this, the scenery fades, like a dream. I am left on a disappointingly well-trodden path, visited countless times before. White roses, pure and mild, ylang-ylang softer than I know it. My hands sticky from the staple fruit of summer, peach. A holy trinity to which I’ve prayed to before, in temples better suited for worship. I’ll take a photo, but I won’t be coming back.
Pictures courtesy of: www.instylemoms.com, www.shizuoka-guide.com and www.monkeybriefs.com
