While any Russian will find an ironic reference in my title to the Soviet era film “Seventeen Moments of Spring,” for me it has less to do with Russian spies improbably masquerading as German officers than with a sense of nostalgia I feel around this time. As I watch cherry blossoms wilt in the puddles, I already miss their delicate pink haze. As I feel the sun burning my skin, I crave the chill of snow. As spring unfolds with all its holidays, I miss people who cannot celebrate them with me. Therefore, my scent palette this spring reflects my yearnings and moods with particular poignancy.