I was tending to the plants on my deck in the last rays of the day when I was struck by the smell of ... wood smoke.

Someone somewhere in my neighborhood had built a fire in their fireplace, and the air was lightly tinted with a scent I had not encountered for many months.

After days of rain, I was expecting, I guess, the smell of moist earth -- that rich, muddy smell. Or of wet leaves beginning to decay, that slightly tangy smell.

But the smell of smoke kind of startled me for a minute and jolted me into a new season more certainly than the cool nights had done.

And it caused me to think about how the seasons smell, each as distinctive as different pots of soup or bottles of perfume.

The smell of the earth thawing in the spring and the dry, dusty smells of August bring me into the moment. They are the right smells for the time.

But that smell of wood smoke threw me. Threw me into the future. Threw me into winter, which is not here yet and which can stay away just a little longer.

Because I will know when it is time for winter. It has its own smell, too: Sharp and stingy and bright.

Photo credit: Flickr/jaaron