One time while visiting Yosemite in early spring, snow was falling as I arrived at the Mariposa Grove, a steady robust flurry of big powdery snowflakes. A few people were walking around near the parking lot, but there was nobody at the meadow a short hike up the hill.

So there I was, in a meadow full of virgin snow, surrounded by sequoias, the entire place to myself. The silence was intense, as snow cushions and absorbs sound. It was an extraordinary moment.