The people and the place impart the melody of Macon. It rises and falls like the plateau the city is built upon. It flows like the Ocmulgee River, which protected the city from certain destruction by Union troops during the Civil War. It still resonates like the lilt of a southern belle.
My daughter Erysse started humming as we walked through the center of town, along College Avenue and Magnolia. She heard the melody in the wind. Every other block she alternated from fast, changing notes like busy traffic whizzing by, to the long, slow tones of the Norfolk Southern train whistle. But at the Indian mounds, she only heard the rustle of leaves.
Macon is an ever changing symphony of sound and sights well worth exploring.