In the spirit of my family’s traditional vacations (focused on nature), we went to Yosemite National Park this Thanksgiving weekend.

Upon arrival we did what most families do, and paused at Tunnel View to gaze at the mesmerizing scene of the cascading waterfall and deep valley. Half Dome stood erected in the center maintaining its focal point, and with a mere glance over one could see the endless array of forest that covered the canyon. I immediately became captivated and the nature’s allure grasped my present thought so that I could only focus on the beauty of this lookout point.

While I could rave endlessly about Yosemite Fall and Mirror Lake, actual destinations in the park, something else caught my breath this time visiting. Though I generally come once or twice a year, Yosemite always has a unique edge offering a distinct experience. In the winter time layers of snow cover the fields, while ice glides over the lakes. The peaks of mountains are whitened and the air smells of the previous night’s shower of crystalized flakes of water. An artist could use just white and grey to paint the landscape effectively, setting up her easel in a field of powder snow. This scene contrasts that of Yosemite in August, consisting of a summer breeze and drier vegetation. With beads of sweat forming every other second on my forehead, and my water bottle requiring another refill, I would move in a crowd of daunting tourists toward Bridalveil Fall. Families on rafts would move along the river and mosquitos would plant themselves on the traveling herds.

Yesterday, Yosemite followed its trend of environmental authenticity and painted a new picture for me that will linger in my thoughts. I sat in a field of golden grass waving inconsistently, as a foggy haze swept from underneath me. There were only a handful of tourists, some playing frisbee and others mounting their bikes, all of whom stood to admire the setting sun. From a gaze north Half Dome lit with a ray of sun gently illuminating it and clouds passed quickly. With a look to my right the crescent moon had arisen and lay more discreet, hidden amidst the many hues of blue in the sky. The last scene was one now behind me of Yosemite Falls, rushing with water, and perpetually the subject of every camera shot. I could sit in my spot for days longer and still have something new to appreciate.

In the distance ran deers, the cutest of which were miniature Bambis, that were causing more traffic for impatient cars. I could hear the occasional wind, feeling shivers all throughout, and fearing that my thin sweater would soon not offer enough warmth. The laughter of children running across the paved paths echoed throughout, as falling autumn leaves guided their adventures. Half dome’s golden light began to fade as the moon dominated more and more. Then the sky changed colors, the pinks intermixing with the blues, until everything eventually went dark.

At around 7 or 8 we drove through the pitch-black park, guided solely by our car’s headlights. We ventured to the same tunnel view as the morning, only now the focus lay in the sky rather the valley. I could see every constellation that I had heard about, and could only imagine the excitement of an astronomer marveling at a scene of such purity. I never before had seen so many stars light up the night and my emotions were again surpassed by my pervasive love of nature.

I await my next trip to Yosemite as I know I will experience yet another reminder of its everlasting beauty.