Images are evocative.

Sometimes, I’ll struggle with feeling that the best images have all been co-opted by Madison Avenue for a logo or a marketing message. For example, it’s hard to look at a red umbrella and not think about Travelers Insurance.

I’m still drawn to certain objects because of how they make me feel. Whether a high-tech halogen model or a faux gas lamp made of twisted black iron, a streetlamp will quickly conjure up memories or impressions.

When I see a streetlamp, I’ll first think about one of my favorite parables.

In the story, a pedestrian sees another man on his hands and knees at the foot of a streetlamp, crawling around in a state of deep concentration. Being good natured and helpful, the pedestrian asks why the man is in such a position and finds out that he lost his keys.

Soon, he joins the man on the ground, getting on his hands and knees, brushing the palms of his hands over the concrete. After 30 minutes of unsuccessfully searching the area, the pedestrian asks the man, “Where do you think you lost your keys?”

“Down the street,” the man replies. “But the light is much better here.”

This response amuses and befuddles me. It’s an all too true quirk of human nature that we’ll look for something where we’d be least likely to find it.

Maybe people will choose to look for something in a place strictly because of the familiarity of the place. Or maybe people like to be deluded by a little bit of light. They like to think that in the illumination, good fortune is shining down.

Of course, I have other associations with streetlamps.

To me, the sight of a streetlamp is a sign of civilization. I don’t like driving on country roads. Even well marked two-lane highways can unnerve me. They’re full of unanticipated dips and bends.

Without streetlamps, I’ve decided, there’s just not enough illumination to navigate at high speeds.

While traveling away from a city, flicking on my car’s high beams, I’ll tell myself that I only have to see 1000 feet ahead of me at any moment. But I won’t feel completely at ease until I get on an interstate and can see a ribbon of silver beads shining above the road.

In my neighborhood, the streetlamps seem like unacknowledged guardian angels watching over me when I walk home. They represent an odd sort of constancy. They’re easy to forget about until they don’t work.

When I was growing up, I remember playing games on the street with the neighbor kids during long summer evenings. I’d pay attention to the sky turning different shades of orange as the sun sunk in the horizon. I’d wave to my dad as he drove up to our house in his white Ford Galaxy. And I’d wait for the streetlights to go ON.

I wanted to be outside. I wanted to catch the exact moment when the streetlamps went from OFF to ON. More credible than any clock, this is what told me that daytime had crossed into nighttime.

Maybe this is why streetlamps are special to me.

Being able to use an everyday object to envision so dramatic a change, going from OFF to ON is no small thing.