Lavender, or the taste of the South rediscovered
There is, in Marseille, a morning that only Agnès knows.
A suspended moment, between the first sails offshore and the still-secret scents of the sleepy alleys. Over there, everything begins with a clear, white, almost salty light, which filters between the blue shutters and awakens the warm stone.
It is in this light that she finds lavender, in filigree. Not only in the hills, but also in simple gestures: a bouquet hung behind a door, a tablecloth that has slept all winter in a blond wooden wardrobe, a soap placed on a
cracked earthenware. Sometimes it's a smell in the air, for no reason, that recalls childhood summers: sheets drying in the sun, paths lined with cypress trees, markets where hand-sewn bags are sold.
Lavender is everywhere, discreet and faithful. It is this silent presence that Lavender black tea aims to capture. Not the vast purple field of postcards, but the intimate, the authentic: the one we treasure, the one we breathe in without even thinking about it, because it already lives within us. The true memory of family and unforgettable moments.
