The Damson Grove| Botanical Wax Melts

Top Notes

Plum • Cassis • Rose • Bergamot • Orange

Heart Notes

Black Cherry • Prune • Cinnamon • Clove • Nutmeg

Base Notes

Patchouli • Vanilla • Tonka Bean • Musk

Beyond the salt marsh, where the sea breeze softened beneath the shelter of the trees, an old lane wandered inland to a quiet grove.

There stood the oldest damson trees in Hawthorn.

Their gnarled branches reached gracefully towards the sky, each spring covered in delicate white blossom before giving way to fruit so richly coloured it seemed to hold the last light of autumn within its skin.

The grove was never large.

Yet every harvest was treasured.

The Reader visited the grove whenever the seasons began to turn.

He would walk slowly beneath the ancient branches, resting his hand upon the weathered bark of the oldest trees.

"They bloom without hurry," he would often say.

"And they bear their fruit only when the season is ready."

Wild roses climbed the old stone walls that sheltered the grove, filling the warm air with their gentle floral fragrance.

After every autumn shower, the rich woodland earth released the deep, comforting scent of patchouli beneath the fallen leaves.

Together with the ripening damsons, the grove carried a fragrance that felt both elegant and deeply rooted in the land.

People came here not because the harvest was plentiful...

But because it had become a tradition.

Families gathered the fruit carefully by hand, filling woven baskets with dark, shining damsons before carrying them home to make preserves, puddings and warming winter cordials.

When the work was done, they rested beneath the oldest tree.

The elders shared stories.

The children listened.

And another season quietly became part of Hawthorn's memory.

As the years passed, little changed within the grove.

The blossoms returned each spring.

The fruit ripened each autumn.

The stories were told once more beneath the same ancient branches.

In time, everyone simply knew it as The Damson Grove.

A place where every harvest reminded the people of Hawthorn that the finest things in life cannot be hurried, only patiently tended until their time has come.