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.
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