Atlanta's Ridge: Peachtree Creek's Eastside Divide

Lyrics

[Intro]

[Verse 1]
Peachtree Creek, you old whisperer,
slipping east from Kirkwood's northern hem,
your waters choosing the Atlantic's pull
via the Ocmulgee's slow curve.
I trace your banks on a spring morning,
dew at sixty degrees Fahrenheit,
smooth river rocks cool under my palm,
earthy clay scent rising like a secret.

[Chorus]
Eastern Continental Divide,
you subtle ridge beneath our streets,
splitting raindrops feet apart—
one to the ocean's vast blue,
the other to the Gulf's warm embrace.
Peachtree, you carry the Atlantic side,
shaping this eastside ground,
geology's quiet hand on our homes.

[Verse 2]
In 1864, your waters witnessed the clash,
Sherman's men crossing near Bald Hill,
but long before, Mvskoke paths followed your flow,
Stoneykosa and Buzzard Roost echoing.
Now, on a humid July afternoon,
eighty-five degrees, pine and moss in the air,
I watch rivulets part on cracked asphalt,
one east to you, Peachtree, the other west to Chattahoochee.

[Bridge]
You, invisible boundary,
marked by rusted iron survey stakes,
half-buried since the early twentieth century,
influencing trails, roads, Bessie Branham's green edges.
What voices did you divide?
Mvskoke families fishing your shallows,
their names lost to settler maps.

[Verse 3]
A rusty bicycle leans against your oak,
tires caked in red Georgia clay,
thermos of black coffee steaming,
as I sit by the wooden footbridge,
creaking under my weight,
listening to your trickle,
heading to the Ocmulgee,
while the land remembers its split.

[Outro]
Peachtree Creek, my eastside companion,
your divide holds Kirkwood's story,
water to Atlantic, ridge to memory.
Goodnight, old flow.