If you asked around, anyone would tell you that winter smells like nothing. Everything is dead, gone…nothing to smell. Snow is just glorified water, it has no scent.

But they’re wrong.

They forget about that smell you discover after you’ve been bundled up too long; the musty dampness collecting on your scarf, it smells of confinement, of protection.

They forget about that lack-of-a-smell after a fresh snowfall. It smells of clean, of freshness, of renewal. That sharp tang that burns your nose and throat, nature’s antiseptic after the craziness that summer leaves behind. It smells of newness, of purity.

They forget about that smell you discover when you come back inside. No, not the rich cocoa simmering on the stove, or the sweet cookies baking in the oven, but the smell of warmth. Of home. That rich, heavy smell that settles in your lungs, in your chest, letting you finally relax after a long day.

Yes, winter does have a smell. More subtle, yes, but definitely more poignant.