For no reason that I could understand, the smell of fresh burning wood popped into my nose at work.

We weren't on fire, and I can assure you there's no wood-burning fireplaces in our offices.

The scent was strong enough to trigger several memories. I was immediately taken to an old house I lived in, in the Northwest. During the winter, we'd have a fire in one, if not several of the fireplaces in the house. Not gas, not electric start; one of those pine log burning, match started, fireplace fire.

It smelt good, warm and comfortable. I'd sit, turn off the lights so I could just enjoy the glow of the embers, and watch the dancing flames. But what I remember most is the smell.

It's the smell of a happy Winter. The smell of cooking marshmellows at the campfire. Or s'mores at a beach bonfire.

I don't know what triggered it, and I've been feeling a little crappy and sad lately, and it helped a little. Interesting how something so minor could do that.