Back to Boston from Vermont

I see banks of trees out the car window,

leaves turning to golden orange and red.

I think of the weekend — how perfect! —

and how that makes it easier

to appreciate this fall beauty, too.

I am about to promise myself

never to forget this moment

when the car’s stale air

is filthy and stuffy

and hurts my head

and there’s nothing I hate more

than seeing trees out the car window,

a snapshot

that tries to erase

all the stupid imperfections

of the weekend.