These are pictures of...

...a perfectly preserved service station circa 1940s. As you can tell by the sign, it is located in Nitta Yuma, MS. Don't feel geographically ignorant for not knowing where this town is. Actually, it is not a town. Like most settled areas off of the Mississippi state highways, it has been given the name by is inhabitants and denizens of surrounding towns. A lot of places along the highways often take the name of the main road that runs through it but aren't actually incorporated. You won't find a town hall in Nitta Yuma, nor will you find a police department, post office, or neighborhood. But that's no slight to the residents of Nitta Yuma; lots of places have that settled charm about them.

During my three year penance in the Mississippi Delta (I call it that because, in retrospect, it seems like I was supposed to experience that slow existence in order to work some things out of my systems), there were quite a few things that fascinated me. Above all else it was the preserved history of the Delta. Mississippi history is not always a proud one (especially if you are a person of color) but it is always intriguing. In earlier posts, you've probably seen my photos of an old plantation house and a sharecropper' shed. These pictures are of another preserved relic.

You pass this place on Hwy 61. Heading north, about an hour past Vicksburg, it appears on your left hand side. At a glance it looks like an old business that's been abandoned and you'd probably pay it no attention. If you pass it a few times, you will start to notice the still present gas pump, the service truck, the "No Tools Loaned" sign, and numerous other things that suggest this place has been intentionally kept up with all original materials. I can appreciate that upkeep effort. But, I can't help but to wonder if in it's functioning days were people like me allowed to used. I have actually looked for signs relating the former business's policy on serving what have then been called "Colored" people. I never found one. I can only assume that: A) this was a business that catered, to a certain extent, to Black customers; or B) in true Mississippi fashion those signs were removed as part of the collective effort to white wash Mississippi's past (and sometimes, present) racial inequality indiscretions. Either way, this is a great piece of architecture that gives a most vivid look into what was.

This picture reminds me...

...of the perpetual, ever-present innocence of the child. This is one the newest member of my Chicago side of the family. He's three years old. Like most any three year old, he loves his toys, he loves to play, and he has his favorite family members. I'm not one of them yet because I was only around the young guy for about five days, but he gave me no trouble in those five days so he's cool with me. He has his less adorable traits, too. Like most three year olds, he will cry when he doesn't get his way. He hasn't learned how to be considerate of others in some situations. His demands can sometimes force you to put off your own intentions. That side of any person can get annoying, but with children we know it's a slow molding process in building that kind of character.

In this picture, everyone was getting ready to leave the house. I do not remember if we were all going to the same place or if we were going our separate ways, but I do know that this little guy was sitting at the bottom of the steps waiting on his grandmother to get dressed. Left to his own devices, this kid did what kids do best, entertained themselves. Toy in hand, he was able to occupy his imagination enough to where the waiting did not seem time consuming at all. His energy was happy and balanced. I thin it was the sensing of this energy that made me want to capture the moment. I grabbed my camera and asked him if I could take a picture. Immediately, he held his head up and gave me this perfect smile. He didn't force it; it was not rehearsed. That look said it all. This was kid with whom the entire world was all right. Innocence lives, thrives, and exudes from children. They lose it the older they get because we grown ups sometimes don't know how to nurture it. Hell, we lost ours years ago. This shot makes me hope that when my wife and I have children, they can look and feel like this kid did at this moment all the time.

I took this picture...

...on a wildflower hike in the Smoky Mountains about two and a half years ago. In its full perspective it is a huge granite boulder covered with moss. In some of the deeper crevices there are dirt deposits along with bits of dried leaves and pine needles. The particular crevice actually had another plant growing from it. I'm not the most enlightened person in the world. I do not claim to be in tune with all living things. I do not vibrate at a higher frequency than most. But I am blessed enough every, once in a while, to be aware of The Design and the evidence of its Architect. I don't know how other people acknowledge what they would consider a higher power, if they acknowledge one at all; it is not my place to ponder such personal things about others. I also do not critique, evaluate, or judge the method and means of their acknowledgment or lack thereof. I do know that for me it comes through in the spiritual practice of Islam.

I'm not a religious purist. I do not think "the path" is limited to just one practice. Most all beliefs have some level of validity and when practiced correctly play a tremendous role in shaping decent people with genuinely good intentions. When someone is highly tuned spiritually, they can see the Divine in a lot of things. In this boulder, I saw that even at its seemingly most disadvantageous something will always be provided to insure life can go on. If we stop looking for things we want when we think we lack and focus on things that we need, we will see that abundance is all around us. Once we can recognize the bounty available to us, we will see that there is never any reason to feel deprived. To quote the beautiful and profound Lauryn Hill: "What you want might make you cry/What you need might pass you by/If you don't catch it/And what you need ironically/Will turn out what you want to be/If you just let it." This is the last day of Ramadan and I've learned even more that in the time when I think I do not have, I still have plenty. I am always taken care of and provided for. I am humbled. I am thankful. I am.

I really like this picture...

...I don't know why, I just do.

This was an...

...experiment in point of view/vantage point/line of sight/perspective. The shot was taken at the North Carolina Arboretum in Asheville. Nothing much else to say here. Peace.

I don't know about some...

...but music is my life. I can attach every milestone even in my life to a song. There are even memories that I never knew were floating around in my conscience until it was called forth by melody and/or beat. The music scene during 1980s Chicago couple with living in a house full of what are commonly called "old-heads," planted the seeds that were to become my eclectic musical tastes. I wouldn't go so far as to say I like all kinds of music or even artists. I will say that I like a lot different songs that span a lot of different genres. Primarily, my number one preference is Hip-Hop. Not that shit heard on the radio or seen on BET; I'm talking about for real, songs-of-substance Hip-Hop. Of course, I can't leave out Chicago House Music. From there, I get into that classic Motown/Philadelphia soul. Throw in some 80s and early 90s R&B and that rounds out my top tier of listening pleasures. Most everything else is a mish-mash of songs, artists, and other genres I just kind of fell into.

I like classic rock but not enough to claim fandom. I haven't ventured much outside of Hendrix, The Doors, Zeppelin, and the like. I dig Southern Rock: The Allman Brothers, Skynyrd, CCR. But to be honest, I don't know any of them like I know my Hip-Hop. Then there are the random songs that I like in and of themselves. I don't much about the artists or their stylings, but I dig their tune. They'll pop up on my iPod and if you're around you'd be impress; don't be too impressed, though. Bottom line, however, is the music has been integral to every moment of my conscious being. Of all the senses we've been given, I hold fast to hearing the most. As long as I can hear my music, I can still feel alive.