On Elizabeth Wightman’s ranch in the Sierra Nevada, the change of seasons arrives gradually. The grasses dry in the late-summer sun, the garden begins to slow, and the green of the landscape takes on warmer tones. Beneath the trees, fallen leaves gather along the paths and the scent of earth and wood becomes more noticeable in the cooling air.

As autumn settles in, mornings become crisper and shadows stretch earlier across the ranch. There is still freshness in the landscape, but it is tempered by dry leaves, bark, and sun-warmed ground. It is this moment between seasons—the last green of summer meeting the woods and earth of fall—that gives Leaves its character.

I’ve always been drawn to that transition. The ranch never changes all at once; you notice it in the cooler morning air, the drying grasses, and the scent beneath the trees. Leaves grew from wanting to capture that familiar shift in the landscape.

The fragrance begins fresh and leafy, then moves toward cedar and sandalwood. Oakmoss gives it an earthy depth, while amber brings a gentle warmth that keeps the woods from feeling dry or austere. The result is green without being grassy and woody without becoming heavy.

On skin, Leaves gradually becomes softer and warmer, retaining a trace of its green opening as the woods and oakmoss settle in. Like the season that inspired it, the change is subtle—something noticed over time rather than all at once.