Driving to Asheville on I40, I knew before I even reached the city limits that I could live here — at least, part time. The Smokey Mountains, covered by the thickest carpet of pines and birches I’ve ever seen, reflect blues and greens back to the sky. The friend’s cabin I’m staying in sits on top of one of these mountains. Today, I came down the mountain to explore Asheville a bit. When I saw the $50 pricetag on a ticket to the Biltmore estate outside of town, I crossed that To Do item off my list. The town is interesting enough: good cafes, stores, bookstores, scenery. In a little while I’ll go walk past the house where Thomas Wolfe lived while he wrote Look Homeward Angel. Like I said, I could live here. Maybe I could even stand the winter.
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