We left our hotel while it was still pitch black, and a little ways outside Monterey our noses told us that we were speeding through a huge eucalyptus grove. It’s one of my favorite smells in the world.

Then, Yosemite.

I don’t know what there is to say about Yosemite that hasn’t already been said, and my photos are taken from the same spots and are of the same spots as a million other photos, both better and worse than these.

And yet. The real thing, the real place, is so much more than any words or images can possibly convey. The sheer enormity of rock faces and waterfalls. Its grandeur. I was reminded of James Cameron’s world of Pandora in Avatar. A fairyland. Even the heart I noticed nestled in the face of El Capitan was plus sized (for those who don’t know this about me, hearts seem pop out at me in everything, from rocks and tree knots to onions and oil stains on shirts).

Yosemite is quite literally a cathedral. I found myself getting pissed at anyone who spoke louder than a whisper. How dare humans enter into such a space with anything less than reverence for it? It seems so tragic to have motorbikes and skateboards, loud conversations and screaming children contaminate the sounds of the valley itself.