From a one day trip to Yosemite on 11-13-2007 It was the driest time of the year; Yosemite Falls was a mere wisp of mist as it dropped off the high granite cliff and it disappeared before it was half way down. So I wasn't tempted by the grand waterfall 'postcard' vistas across the Valley. The slow and quiet Merced River lent itself to gorgeous reflections. A fire had done its damage a few months back in the grassy meadows and some of the forests leaving charred bark, singed leaves and new grass growth poking up through the burnt black ground. The cottonwoods and Aspens were still singing a few high notes of bright yellow. The Black Oaks were mostly bare with a carpet of rich smelling wet brown leaves on the ground.