1946: French writer Colette went to Switzerland, where she would undergo treatment for severe and painful arthritis. She was delighted to find that the sparrows around her lodgings in Geneva were tame. They flew into her room from the balcony, slept under her bed, ate from her hands. They would even chirp protests when she would lock them out of the bathroom as she bathed. One day she found a pair of sparrows snuggling in a fold of her bedspread. She startled them and they flew away. Colette wrote:

This gave me fair warning that the time was not far off when I should discover one individual among their small, indefinite band, the particular one, the one who preferred me and was mine by preference. With the animal world, we are subject to the same perils every time. To choose, to be chosen, to love: the very next moment we are beset by anxiety, the danger of loss, and the fear of spreading regret. What an array of big words when the subject is but a sparrow! Yes, a sparrow. In love, there is never a question of smallness. ¹

A perfect segue to the love for, and smallness of…perfumes…

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