The air is crisp outside. My breath hangs in the air like the tuley fog I drove through earlier today. Slowly disapating until I exhail once again. Even without the moon out I can almost feel the presence of the surrounding granite threatening to press down and obliterate us in the grandure of 3000ft walls.

As I glance up I notice how brilliant the stars are. No moon, no city air, no coastal fog. Just the crisp cold air of a winter night in the sierras.

The ground seems to dissapear beneath my feet as I take a deep breath and slowly puff out little smoke rings. My step lightens and it's as if a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I listen as the coyotes call to each other across this narrow valley -- as it echoes off the cliffs and snow. An owl hoots something about not polluting -- or was that just my imagination? A loud crunching sound follows each footstep as the icy layers I'm walking over settle under my weight. My tent is set up in it's usual location ... with snow underneath for a warm and relaxing sleeping experience.

There is something relaxing, something magical about being back in Yosemite.