Continental Divide: Two Rivers, One Town

Lyrics

The air on the square smells like rain on hot stone.
A gray sheet pulled over from the west.
There’s a ridge that runs under the bricks here.
You can’t see it.
But the water knows.

A man reads the paper outside the old courthouse.
A woman pushes a stroller past a coffee shop window.
The first drop hits the pavement, right on a brass marker no one ever reads.
A perfect, dark circle.
A point of departure.
It doesn't hesitate.

A step to the north... you're bound for the Atlantic.
A gutter drain on Ponce, finding the Chattahoochee's pull.
A step to the south... the Gulf of Mexico is calling your name.
Down through the clay, to the Ocmulgee's quiet run.
Two oceans born from one cloud, on one Decatur street.

I followed that northern drop once.
In my mind.
Past the bungalows on Clairemont Avenue.
Under the MARTA tracks.
It joined Peachtree Creek, near the old battleground from '64.
Just a whisper of water, on its way to Apalachicola Bay.
Carrying a little piece of our dust with it.

A step to the north... you're bound for the Atlantic.
A gutter drain on Ponce, finding the Chattahoochee's pull.
A step to the south... the Gulf of Mexico is calling your name.
Down through the clay, to the Ocmulgee's quiet run.
Two oceans born from one cloud, on one Decatur street.

People argue about everything.
Politics. Zoning. Where to get the best brunch.
They draw lines all over the map.
But this one... this one was here first.
It just waits.
Doesn't take sides. It just *is* the side.
A quiet, geological joke.

And now the rain is coming down for real.
Splitting on the roof of the Brick Store Pub.
One side for the Gulf.
One for the sea.
Two rivers.
One town.