The note of Tumbleweed presents as an exquisitely dry, airy, and delicately woody aroma, imbued with a palpable dustiness that speaks of sun-baked earth and ancient, parched vegetation. It carries a subtle, almost mineralic crispness, like the clean sting of wind whipping across vast, open plains. There's a whisper of dried hay, not sweet or green, but fully desiccated and brittle, accompanied by a faint, ghost-like warmth that suggests lingering sunlight. Its texture is remarkably light and diffuse, almost ethereal, yet grounded by a persistent dryness that can feel surprisingly coarse on the olfactory palate. As a note, it typically behaves as a transient top-to-heart presence, offering an immediate sense of spaciousness and desolation, with a moderate projection that hints at its origin rather than dominating. Its longevity, while not robust as a standalone, contributes a dry, persistent undercurrent that anchors more volatile elements.