At the beating heart of Signal is an embrace of roses from Bulgaria and France that cradle its epicenter of white citrus and jasmine notes. They call out the softness of the mid-day orange blossom emerging in the sultry heat, and at the same time the night-blooming jasmine, a surprising terrestrial encounter with timelessness and grace. On top of these floats the thinness and blackness of the deep night, an atmosphere of mystery and spices, of smoke wafting up from the torchwoods carried silently across a lake in a precession of resinous rafts. From a spreading, almost sticky resonance with the flowery theme that happens in the drawdown, one wonders if this incense is meant to preside over a funeral for the ancients. The sustained base notes are transitory shapes like celestial wanderers and shooting stars, a glimpse into a world beyond, a world with no name but hardly featureless. The aphrodesiac qualities of Signal can be attributed both to its evanescence and the way it lingers in its passage, a sentinel, a beacon, a spear thrust from the soul, waiting for its mark. One later realizes that the accord of flowers with gravitational pull is not just the familiar jasmone, geraniol and indole of the heart notes, but the cananga/ginger-lily collision, discovered only upon careful examination, as if with a telescope—a helical supernova opening only once, but perceptible for eons.