Early morning on the day of Thanksgiving I found myself walking around the east end of Yosemite Valley, on the road and path between Curry Village and The Ahwahnee. It was sunrise, but not sunrise. The sun had just risen over the horizon, somewhere, turning the sky lighter shades of gray, but it would take about another hour to peek over the top of the peaks surrounding me and give me a hint of blue.

The valley was amazingly quiet. Not another soul, other than a coyote and a small group of mule deer, ventured out onto the paths, not at first, anyway. The cold crisp air nipped at my face and I could have done with wearing a third layer of thermal. I had not yet acclimated to colder temperatures. Nor would I, given the short duration of the trip.

Walking along in the quiet, by myself, I took in the expanse of the landscape around me with the changing light. But with no distractions other than my own mind, I also took the time to notice the smaller things, like patterns in the tree bark and pine cones and leaves. That’s when I came upon a frozen puddle in my path. Pine needles and twigs caught in a craqueleur of blue ice reminded me of scenes in movies or other photographs of animals or humans who had fallen into a body of water and had been trapped in the ice – but without the horror. The contrast of the color, and the random geometry also caught my eye.

This is probably my favorite photograph from the three days spent in the valley, although I am only half way in editing the images.