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  Yosemite. The name evokes very powerful memories with me. I have been to Yosemite many times and in all seasons except the fall only because as a teacher, we don't get a "Fall Season," at least until we go to a year-round schedule. These pictures are just a few of some I took in June 1995. California had a very heavy winter that year with snow falling in Yosemite the week before we got there. There was some minor flooding in the valley (nothing compared to the January 1997 flooding) but the waterfalls were absolutely spectacular, as evidenced below. Try the Yosemite Association for a good web site on Yosemite. The last picture of Half Dome is from Glacier Point and was taken in August 1975. The picture at the right is also from that trip and shows a living Jefferey Pine on top of Sentinal Dome. We used to make regular treks up there to see the tree. The gracefulness of it was very inspiring even though it was only 15 feet high and stunted because of lightning and poor soil conditions. Unfortunately, this tree died during the drought years of the late 70's. I have not been up to see it since and I know it will be a sad day when I finally do get back up to the top of Sentinal Dome.  Please enjoy these offerings. For a different view of Yosemite, please go to my Winter in Yosemite page. If you have any comments, please feel free to sign my guestbook.
Yosemite Trails
 With the first grey touch of morning light
The Traveler is roused from sleep
To follow the trail to mountain height
And view the grandeur at his feet.
A giant Sugar Pine marks the sky
With sweeping arms and pendent cones.
The sweet Azalea delights the eye
'long turbulent stream's wall of stones.
Along the way near granite wall
The cheery greeting of the Monkey Flower
Lightens the load of all who call
To see the work of summer's shower.
 A Douglas Fir, with plumy fronds,
Hugs the moist shoulder of canyon wall,
Its rich, green foliage decked with cones,
'mid the drifting spray of waterfall.
From high on a shelf of the canyon wall
The Cliff Swallows dart and sway;
A Water Ouzel bobs at nearby waterfall
And the Canyon Wren greets the day.
The Deer and Bear mark the Traveler's way
As one of their own who belongs;
The small Furry-Folk pause in their play
To listen, wide-eyed, to his buoyant songs.
Near mossy bank and Fern-edged rock
The Columbine waves its brilliant hue;
And the mind is cleared of care and talk
To drink in the depth of Larkspur's blue.
 In boggy dell and mountain glade
The leopard Lily, that roused of dawn,
Now naps in the cool of noonday shade
And dreams of Bees and wandering Faun.
In mountain meadow where gurgling brook flows
The Primrose abounds in starry form,
Crowding the retreat of melting snows
Left in the wake of winter's storm.
High on the tip of rock-bound pine
Where the wandering winds are free,
Above sparkling brook and blue lake's shine,
Comes the plaintive song of a Chickadee.
 Where Hemlock, Juniper, and Whitebark Pine,
With trunks so twisted and stark,
Mark life's vanguard at Timberline
Comes the Cony's cheerful bark.
With the first star of evening above
The Bluebird, 'top a meadow stone,
Pours out his song of abiding love
To a mate nearby in grassy home.
Then winds in the tree-tops softly sigh
And the friendly eye of the camp-fire gleams;
With stars on watch in the Sierra sky
The Traveler is wrapped in woodland dreams.
Author - Virginia Clark
Winter in Yosemite
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