Warm weather opens up new worlds.

My drive home is no longer merely music or the Mets on the radio and the smell of an air freshener, but the sounds and smells from inside the car melding with those from outside. The Jeep on my left has squeaky brakes, the Acura on my right is blasting Led Zeppelin. Garlic rushes in with the breeze through my sunroof and windows, the Greek place I never noticed behind the Fleet smells inticing, and I'm not sure what, exactly, Greek food is, let alone if I'd like it. I enjoy the commute on cool, soft evenings like that.

The drive in is equally invigorating. By 9:30 the air is already warm, the sun is hot. I carry my jacket simply to throw into the back of the car in the event of too much air conditioning or a late-day cold front. Morning talk radio won't do � I need music, upbeat, rockin' tunes like Springsteen's "Lonesome Day" or Fountains of Wayne's "It Must Be Summer." I prefer to crank the music above any outside noise, drowning out those other cars, those street sounds. I lean back, my arm resting on the open window, my hand fingering the wheel, my head back, this close to being too relaxed by aware of what the road throws at me.

On a day like this, it makes it hard to picture anything else, to think that tomorrow will be just the same, no matter what the weather reports have been saying.