What a great time to be in Atlanta! Last Saturday night we conducted an auction at the Ritz-Carlton in Buckhead… one of my favorite hotels in the city. The auction was a rousing success with some of the most spirited bidding we have seen this year… but that was not the special part of the weekend.
The next morning was even better. For some reason, Atlanta flips a switch as it moves from Saturday night to Sunday morning… the city transforms itself from a bustling metropolis to ‘Sunday in the South’. It’s one of my favorite times in the city – nothing going on, quiet streets, stillness… if you have never experienced this, you would not believe it happens every weekend in the 9th largest city in America!
Oh, Atlanta… well, you can drop me off on Peachtree, I got to feel that Georgia sun… (Little Feat)
This reminds me of Shenandoah’s song of the same name… I have never seen this in any other place I have visited in my travels. I am sure there are others, but this past Sunday absolutely “fit” – no other way to say it! No offense to the North Carolinians reading this post, but Charlotte runs neck and neck for second place in this category!
Shenandoah – Sunday in the South
Writer: BOOKER, JAY
Mill worker houses lined up in a row,
Another southern Sunday morning blow
Beneath the steeple all the people have begun
Shakin’ hands with the man who grips the gospel gun
While the quiet prayer, the smell of dinner on the ground
Heals up the morning air, ain’t nothin’ sweeter around
I can almost hear my mama pray:
“Oh lord forgive us when we doubt,”
Another sacred Sunday in the south
A ragged rebel flag flies high above it all
Popping in the wind like an angry cannon ball
The holes of history are cold and still,
But they smell the powder burnin’ and they probably always will
And on the old town square under the barber shop pole,
They sat me up in the chair when I was four years old
I can almost hear my papa say:
“Won’t you hold still son, stop squirmn’ around
Another sacred sundays coming down”
I can almost hear the old folks say:
“You’ll make it big one day, you’ll leave this town,”
Some other lazy Sunday you’ll come back around
I can feel the evening sun go down,
And all the lights in the houses one by one go out
Softly in the distance nothing stirs about
And the night is filled with the sound of a whipporwil
On a Sunday in the south
darronmeares 