The note of Timbó, a truly enigmatic presence, unfurls with a profound, almost primeval earthiness. It is deeply rooty, reminiscent of ancient, gnarled roots pulled from damp, mineral-rich soil after a long rain. Its texture is dry yet simultaneously rich, like finely ground dark wood or dried moss, with an underlying dustiness that speaks of forgotten paths. There's a subtle, almost bitter green sap nuance, a whisper of verdant life struggling through dense earth, which prevents it from becoming overly heavy. Its intensity is quiet but persistent, a low hum rather than a shout. As a base note, it possesses remarkable longevity, anchoring compositions with a grounding, almost stoic presence. Its projection is intimate, a personal aura that draws one closer rather than announcing itself loudly. It evolves slowly, shedding its initial dampness to reveal a drier, more resinous woodiness over many hours, leaving a lingering, almost spiritual echo.