Yesterday during a walk in Yosemite Valley, I watched the alto cumulus and cirrus clouds overhead tell the story of the impending storm, while it snowed pine needles freed by the anxious wind. Standing among the comforting embrace of the granite peaks, I thought how magical it was to be in this special place on the threshold of winter.
This morning I woke up in Yosemite Valley and was delighted to find the story of the clouds had been truthful and nature had left the gift of her winter artistry. Mist hovered above the snow, trying to escape banishment by the rising sun, while the surrounding cliffs showed off their winter coats. Yosemite Valley is always magnificent, but the fresh snow and hovering mist brought a special beauty to the place that is hard to rival.