Greetings, urban neighbors. I live in Inman Park on a street between the famously funky Little Five Points and the CSX rail yard.

The railyard's piggyback operations screech and clang along DeKalb Avenue — that confusing three-lane mass of congestion whose traffic swarms east and west, in rhythm to downtown office hours, like so many schools of fish darting to and fro in unison. I used to unfailingly wish, whenever I went out, that I lived someplace beautiful.

The view from here can be pretty gritty. But I have discovered that there is some "pretty" in gritty. Urban beauty abounds, as shafts of light fall, after all, even among the trash and shadows.  I have taken so many photographs of what delights me that I am compelled to share what I see when I walk.

I am going to write regularly here about the way I see Atlanta: On foot and with a camera. I am an inveterate walker, mostly for the express purpose of walking, but also to do most any errand or shopping within a half hour's walk. Daily walks get me outside of myself, open me, clear my head, play with my perceptions — and therefore with my perspective. I invariably feel better after a walk.

I ardently advocate walking for all. Why? The lack of confining walls, the literally longer view and the realization that we are part of something so huge.

There's the chance view of a hawk or chance visit with a neighbor, the regular sightings of things changing, growing, flowering, and dying—these are all the gifts of frequent urban walks. When we get ourselves outside, we really do get outside ourselves. So, I invite you to walk often.

I also invite you to follow me and my images. I want to show you what may be visible only from the pedestrian's perspective.  I have no particular comment on this week's photos — they are random images, my "takes" on life in East Atlanta Patch's various neighborhoods, up close.

Georgia O'Keefe once said, of why she painted her flowers so large—that otherwise nobody would notice how lovely they were.

That is why I photograph, often up close, the everyday objects, the literally pedestrian things that I see as a pedestrian: Because I want to show how particular aspects of urban grit and commerce and patches of parks can be quirky, iconic, and even lovely.