Goodbye silver steward of cross-country trips, sweet roadster that squeezed seamlessy into small parking spaces and astonished passengers with its legroom. Goodbye reliable deliverer of groceries and catering bins and moving boxes and impromptu garage sale finds. Goodbye highway hobo and intrepid back-roads adventurer. Goodbye oval dashboard readouts and primitive stereo components and cupholders that held drive-through coffee and countless bottles of water. Goodbye hand-crank windows and non-automatic doors and flat grey carpeting that camouflaged quarters. Goodbye dustballs in the corner. Goodbye sturdy rear defroster. Goodbye slippery gear shift. Goodbye ill-designed headrests. Goodbye canvas of magnetic poetry, bearer of bike rack, frame of decal and registration sticker. Goodbye faithful Chloe, who drove me through thick and through thin, who stayed healthy and cheap to drive, and who sacrificed herself in the end to save me. My deep gratitude for the places you've brought me to, and for the adventures you delivered.
Goodbye autumn light. Goodbye long limbo of afternoon. Goodbye mild air on the evening walk. Goodybe short-sleeve and lightweight cotton. Goodby leaves. Goodbye geese. Goodbye electric reds and bright pinks and the voluminous palette of sunset.
Goodbye old love. Goodbye old failure. Goodbye straight and narrow. Goodbye anonymity. Goodbye perfection. Goodbye fragility. Goodbye impossible. Goodbye solitude.
And hello. Hello to everything else.