One snowy February, I parked my car in an empty lot, slung my new snowshoes over my back, and headed out on the John Muir Trail as it follows the
The silence spoke to me of the sacred Nature of this site, the cold touched on my mortality, and the solitude told me I was small. As I climbed the switchbacks ascending the cliff of
I continued on up the switchbacks to the top of the falls. The whole time, the snow drifts threatened to break loose and send me down to the base of the cliff entombed for a season in ice and rock. The risk, as is often the case, was well worth it. Near the top, giant icicles flowed over the rocks and the tranquility of the Merced was contrasted with the flurry of snow and the emanate plunge over Nevada Falls.