It may seem super mundane to wax nostalgic about a city street, but streets…especially some special ones…can keep us connected to the physical realities that are part of our lives. I think we can sometimes get so dazzled by the manufactured inventions that our technologies lay before us that we forget where we have laid down footprints.
Very old...
I am thinking of a very long Street that begins in a major California city and snakes for miles through the suburbs and towns that have built up around this city. If I’m in a hurry I will, of course, hop on a freeway, but if I have time I’ll wander down my Street, taking in the changing neighborhoods, the businesses along it that come and go, even the changes in weather. The Street is very old, and even though I have explored its little alleys for over fifty years, I know it is much older than that. Some of the trees that line parts of the Street have the knots and scars acquired through a century of existence.
Predictable old comrade...
What is it that is so comforting when my wheels make the turn onto the Street? Perhaps it really is a predictable old comrade that never changes. Oh, houses, businesses and parks may appear and disappear over years of consistent change, but the Street remains the same. I know where I am when I see a newly-paved patch; I recognize the pebbly cracks that need fixing, and the cross streets tell me if I’m near where I want to go.
Honking horns...
There is no particular poetry in all this for me, no great flights of fancy. In fact I have all the mental fancies I need right now. What I desire is an old friend, one that may look a little grim in places and speaks only through honking horns, but one that never fails to lay itself out before me when I come calling. I never get lost here, and somehow my heart is made lighter when I’m on my Street.
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