The First Snowfall

Would the scent of winter, the smell of fresh snow mean much to me if I'd been down south breathing the scent of the sand in a better climate since a child? If i found snow at fifty I'd dance around with wonder and shout the most magnificent praises that anyone could raise but I'd ignore the smell and scurry back inside. The resonate purity of youth comes off the snow consecrated soil. It's not a memory of youth left wanting or yearning but all at once I'm reimmersed, undistracted in the storm.