Rosemary is the smell of deja vu and the after-breath of nostalgia. Her gift is the faint scent that teases and vanishes, leaving you longing for something you can’t quite name, with memories that crest and crash, pulling you gasping into their undertow.
In Victorian times Rosemary was said to say, “Remember me.” This is but a small part of her magic. Rosemary can ease remembrance, softening sharp edges, or she can dredge the distant past, pulling on your DNA to bring forward the longings of lineage. Crush the leaves. Hold them to your nose. The past is encoded into our cellular memory. Rosemary whispers, Sink into the knowledge that lives in your bones. Let memory rise up from the body of your being.
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