I trekked through the snowy woods of Yosemite, stumbling over the frost-encrusted thorns that snaked through the woods. There were no paths in this part of the forest, so although I was only a few hundred yards from Maple Lodge, it felt like the middle of nowhere.

My boots crunched through the crust of snow that coated the still-grassy ground, so, looking back, my footprints looked like tiny green gardens, contrasting against the white forest floor.

Soon, I came upon a massive log, a great wooden wall slicing through the woods. I couldn’t see the ends, hidden by leafless bushes. I wasn’t ready to turn back and return to the Lodge, but I didn’t like the look of the brambles that blocked the other route. I had to climb the log. Brushing off the thin icy coating with my gloved hands, I hauled myself up, begging my cold-numbed feet to get a grip. Up there I felt to be on the top of the world. In the distance, a snowmelt pond glittered. There seemed to be a vine-covered, bare-branched willow tree by its marshy shores where I could shelter from the now thickly falling snow. It would cover my tracks, so I decided to follow the log to the pond’s edge.

As the fallen redwood narrowed and came to an end, I clumsily leaped to the snowy ground. I stumbled over to the willow tree, ducked beneath its snowy coating, and pulled a granola bar from the crinkling pocket of my magenta parka.

It wasn’t long before the falling snowflakes thinned out and stopped altogether. I bent to exit the shelter of the ice-covered tree and looked around at my new surroundings, shivering at the white cold. The pond continued about ten yards to my left before ebbing out into a snowy marshland, and twenty to my right until my view was blocked by a pile of logs and branches. In that same direction, a path curved into the woods. In the snowmelt pond, I saw something white, blurred by the rippling waters, and gasped. It was a deer’s shoulder blade! Glancing around me, I saw more parts of its skeleton. In the pond- the skull and legs. By the log- the spine. And behind the shelter-tree lay the once-majestic deer’s ribcage. I suddenly felt that someone- or thing- was watching me. Then I realized that the bones must have been carried there by the same flood as the logs. Relieved, I went across the pond to visit the river. I hiked by the broad stream, passing tiny tussocks of grass and rivulets of water. Here I neared the paved trail that outlined the meadow in a strip of black, like an uncolored drawing. Soon I decided to turn back.

Back by the snowmelt pond, the path I’d seen before beckoned. I was getting hungry, and tired, and my toes and fingers were numb from the bitter Yosemite cold. So I took the path.

Halfway along the snowy path, I saw a flicker of movement to my left. Turning, my gaze was met by a beautiful coyote’s yellow eyes. And there! Another, and another! All in all, the pack had a half dozen members. I’m not sure how long we stared at each other. It felt like hours, but more likely it was only seconds before they slinked off into the white woods ringing the Meadow, and I knew it was just me and the coyotes, out in this silent forest.