I was assigned Rose Hill Cemetery, in Macon Georgia to give an informative speech on out of a list of twelve local historic sites. I must accompany myself with a slideshow. I need seven minutes.
I got out there yesterday afternoon after giving the neighbor's prodigal grandson a ride. (grandma has thrown him out). The Afternoon sunlight, bouncing off of autumn leaves was amazing, but I was pressed for time, trying to beat the darkness. Rather than break out a tripod, and go for one of those Ultra-clear, You-can-go-swimming-in-me pictures, I shot all of my brackets by hand, or propped/wedged against gravestones or whatever. I wanted to get lots of statues, and I would shoot a few brackets before quickly moving deeper into Macon's largest garden and graveyard.
I had forgotten how neat sunbursts, sunbeams and such are and may have overdid it. Moderation isn't my strong suite.
I just really started loving the whole sunburst thing and probably am lucky I didn't cook my eyeball, trying to outdo myself:
You like? I don't know if I like it or not.
Evidently, musicians are more popular than politicians (This does not surprise me). I'm told the most visited spot in Rose Hill is a little fenced in area that holds the remains of Duane Allman and Barry Oakley. I'll ask you to forgive this picture. I have no speedlites, and almost never am willing to use onboard flash, so these brackets are shot as night photos (It was getting dark) and edited within an inch of their lives, to pull this one HDR out of them. I really wanted to capture the inscription...
And the engraving of the guitar. I never noticed the inscription on my previous visits, in the last millineum. The two graves were not always fenced in. In my youth, you could go sit right next to them and many did. It was something of a tradition to smoke a fattie (blunts weren't invented yet...and 22% hydro was not a mexican mafia industry. The only people in the world back then with that kind of doobage were the botanical savants, those burned out High Times! subscribers who became marijuana rain men, master breeders driven by their ever increasing tolerance. Yeah. this was a long time ago), and then cast the roach upon the grave of the musical legend... (and I would like to say, I have never done this...I don't know why I never noticed the inscription as a child) and drift in the grooviness for a few respectful moments.
I LOVE BEING ALIVE AND I WILL BE THE BEST MAN I POSSIBLY CAN. I WILL TAKE LOVE WHEREVER I FIND IT AND OFFER IT TO EVERYONE WHO WILL TAKE IT. SEEK KNOWLEDGE FROM THOSE WISER AND TEACH THOSE WHO WISH TO LEARN FROM ME.Is the inscription on the lid of Duane Allman's burial vault. I have no earthly idea who wrote this. The Consensus seems to attribute it to Duane possibly taken from "This year I will be more thoughtful of my fellow man, exert more effort in each of my endeavors professionally as well as personally. Take love where ever I find it, and offer it to everyone who will take it. In this coming year I will seek knowledge from those wiser than me and try to teach those who wish to learn from me. I love being alive and I will be the best man I possibly can." It seems after nearly four decades of my Half-Asian roots plunging ever deeper into redneck soil, I have had a spiritual awakening. As I struggled to make out the faded writing below the engraved guitar, I found my sinuses beginning to sting, and my eyes grew damp. Duane was rated as the Number 2 Greatest Gutarist of all time by Rolling Stone Magazine, between Jimi Hendrix, and B.B. King.
We all hear the voice of our Creator, though we may never recognize it. Sadly, some never act on the voice of wonder. Some of us address specificities in our destiny to further the Redemptive work of God. Others may simply author works of beauty, throwing offerings on the scales of God's Glory, doing their part to insure that the ugliness and evil is outweighed by beauty and goodness. My guitar professor, at Georgia Southern told me that the pentatonic blues scale is the first one an arising civilization develops, that the blues are indelibly tatooed into humanity. Perhaps that is why visitors stroll past the graves of statesmen and legislators as I did, and pause instead at Duane Allman's grave, to pay homage to a simpler man, so full of music it spilled out of him. We know when such talent is sealed away by the untimely, early twenties death of virtuosity, that we have suffered a casualty. A blow has been struck by the other side.
BTW...If you're interested in untrained photographers, or bored, or you love me... you can see the other cemetery pics here. Every picture you click generates traffic stats for me. Hint.