Even though I have lived here in Batesville for most of my life, I was born in Vail, Colorado. I may have been little, but I remember very distinctly the atmosphere. Because Vail was basically a huge ski resort, it was filled with tourists. The small bakery, teeming with hungry customers examining all the pastries that filled the air with a heavenly aroma. Out on the streets, families climb on the trolly to see the town. crowds of people covered the sidewalks and courtyard, despite the brisk, dry air, to cheer on the live bands. A few miles outside of town, a tiny, but cozy, house sits on a hill. Inside, the parents sit in front of a crackling fireplace, sipping a steaming cup of hot chocolate with the little marshmallows. Outside, the children play in the clean, fresh snow. The air so clear and freezing, it burns their throats as they run. Beyond the countryside, the enormous and stunning mountains show bright white in the distance. Up inbetween these snow-dusted peaks, it is completely silent, like an all white, soundproof room. There are no crickets at night, chirping the songs of nature, just the occasional thud of dropping snow from the branches of the evergreens. in the silence, the sound of the river trickling over the bolders as if it were a leaky faucet.
