Of Autos Everlasting

The streets grew quiet Sunday evening, the hum of trucks and motorcycles receding with the light. I stepped out onto Mariposa and strolled up Mississippi to 18th, past rows of cheerfully potted plants and lightly leaved driveways. Here and there, neighbors passed with coffee or a book in hand. Farley's patrons spilled out onto sidewalk benches, the afterglow of the warm day having dappled the air with a round, mellow aroma. In the distance, a dog barked; farther away, the muffled clatter of CalTrain wended its way up the hill.

As I continued, I noticed a number of older automobiles curbside. No longer bathed in harsh sunlight, their hulls shimmered, rejuvenated by the softening light. These appeared to be seeing daily usage, and some were more weathered than others, but all imparted a feeling of strength, unyielding, and steadfast.

I'm a recent transplant; stalwart vehicles such as these are rare in my old neighborhood, South of Market near the ballpark. There, change filled the air. That part of SOMA had cultivated a sense of anxious affluence, and in the context of all the transformation - remodelings, burgeoning Quiznos, aloof new hi-rise condos and the rumbling of I-80 west as its arteries crumbled amidst refit - any sense of permanence, of mis en scene, was fleeting.

So it was with great warmth and equanimity that I gazed upon these trusty old vehicles resting on the hill. Their presence seemed to reassure me that the neighborhood would retain its quiet charm, permanence and individuality ever more.

"I have an affection for a great city. I feel safe in the neighborhood of man, and enjoy the sweet security of the streets." -HW Longfellow