I came to school here because of the quiet. That's the thing I love best about my mountains; even in the dead of summer, in the daylight on the windy hilltops there is no sound besides the wind in the trees and the occasional hesitant bird. The woods have gotten green in the last week, after the late snow. They sound so different, no longer the faint cold song of branch on branch but an almost alien sussaration, the movement of a thousand tiny leaves. Violets are growing on the hilltop. The brambles of blackberry and wild rose are almost flushed out. Down in the pond, the tadpoles are getting fatter. It's good here.

love,,br>alex