SLIABH NA CAILLI

Perfume for the Picts

SLIABH na CAILLI (pronounced Slee-av na Kay-lee), means Hills of the Witch and is the name of a range of hills and ancient burial sites near Oldcastle, County Meath, Ireland.

This fragrance is intended for serious Oudh aficionados and will not appeal to many others. It is a deeply complex, challenging, ancient, earthly scent. It is soft, delicate leather such as deerskin, gently suffused with herbs and wildflowers, endless rain falling on the cold earth and stones, wet grass, peat and wild herbs. It carries a lingering trail of smoke and ash from fire-pits long gone, and the raw truth of close bodies wrapped in skins and furs. It speaks of tough human survival through the mists of time.

FEATURED NOTES INCLUDE: Broom, Herb Robert (Geranium), Spearmint, Violet Leaf, Clary Sage, Fir Needle, Black Spruce, Cypress, Cedarwood, Vetiver, Oakmoss, Labdanum, hand-crafted Mitti attar (clods of earth distilled in pure Indian sandalwood/the smell of rain), Ambrette Seed, cultivated Evergreen Superior Oudh from Vietnam, rare, wild-crafted Oudh from the Mentawai tribe of Siberut Island/Sumatra, aged/vintage Patchouli and Birch tar.

Sliabh na Cailli (the perfume) was inspired by a very wet dawn visit on Spring Equinox to the megalithic cairn at Loughcrew at Oldcastle in 2005. Its composition is an aromatic ode to the ancient landscape and the people who lived and flourished there over 5000 years ago.

ON SLIABH NA CAILLÍ

What sees harsh, when soft light cocoons? What cold is comfort against the chill of old? Where burns the sheen of age, that slipped on the slopes of time? Who spins and weaves and turns us now? Emerald-wet, as blue as breath, she suffers no hunger on the mounds of stone. She is Witch Queen of the Mountain. She carved the wheels, to hold our bones, as daylight came for we who wept. Her menhirs stand, still vivid and wild, in mists that drape the land in verdant, velvet moss. I met her on the sodden hills, and fell to my knees, to touch grey winter in that ancient earth. Rain fell and fell and fell more again. My bare and frozen feet slapped, white and black on the lichen green, as megalithic ghosts swarmed everywhere. In solitude, (bar sheep and crows), I followed the scent of dawn, dressed only in the vanishing cloak of a silent shroud.

~ Samhain TR ©2022