Winter in Grand Teton National Park can be brutally cold. The forest, normally dense with vibrant leaves, now stands bare. Silently draped in a pristine white blanket of deep snow, the forest feels more like a ghost town, its skeletal branches reaching toward the icy sky.

Falling snow casts an eerie quiet across the landscape. The stillness was only broken by the soft crunch of snow beneath my boots. A gentle wind began to stir the snow across the open fields, covering the scene. The only thing remaining was the black trees against the stark white snow.