Memo Paris Irish Leather

It is one of those rough, icy mornings in Ireland: the sun barely breaks through the heavy clouds, the air is fresh and dry, and a north wind whips through the grass. In the saddle room, the intense notes of leather, wood, amber, and honey linger – an ancient scent that penetrates the frost. A horse whinnies softly: the fragrance of its freedom. Leather fills the air, grass warms against wood. Irish Leather gallops toward the horizon.