The snow starts falling in the Yosemite winter, first gently and then with insistence. Hours—or days—into the blizzard everything is white. Maybe there are a few shades of gray. But the world is essentially monchromatic. Color is a merely a memory evoked by a few details in this photograph: the rock behind the waterfall, the brown tint of the trunks of the trees on the lower left, and the green of fir trees showing through the whiteness.
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