Bee: When you rest, magic happens.
Clouds: I am but water in another form.
Horizon: What lies over the horizon? Be ready for anything.
Mini Pond: Here today, gone tomorrow — so live each day to the fullest.
Calla Lily: Stand up for yourself!
Bench in Field: Stop. Look. Listen. Life is all around you.
Lichen: Grow wherever there is opportunity, even in the most unlikely places.
Daffodils: Brighten someone’s day!
Sea Cave: Find the Light and swim towards it as if your life depended on it.
Blackberry Thorns: Protect yourself, but freely give your fruit.
Flocked Seagulls (far right on sand): Joined together, the world doesn’t seem too large.
Stranded Logs: No need to struggle; let the waves take you where you need to go.
Wood Grain: See the patterns.
Whale Bench: When troubles loom whale-large, sit awhile and things will fall into perspective.
Photos © Sondra Sula.
Take a walk with me by reading my daily devotional book, Meditations on Mendocino by Sondra Sula. Available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle versions.
If you’d prefer a daily river walk, Reflections on the Fox River and Beyond by Sondra Sula, might just be the book for you.
I get off balance quite easily, 
Many of the beaches in northern California are small rocky coves that can be walked end to end in several minutes — if one doesn’t get sidetracked by globular sea jellies 
Have you ever had to take a walk—due to physical injury or illness—solely in your mind? I have. In fact, I’m doing it right now. I’m remembering a walk I took with my sister back in July.
We were hiking the Mendocino headlands one minute, then winding our way down a steep path to a beach cove the next.
There we were greeted by a seaweed-swathed post, pointing out wonders to behold: a cracked crab shell bespeckled with barnacles, driftwood decorated with fine fringe and ocean-smoothed stones pasted with pretty petals.
We separated, each drawn to marvels that called to us like sirens. A charred knotty log told tales of midnight fires under black, star-studded skies.
A wooden “wing” reminisced about its flight from the forest and long travels at sea. Wild waves from a Pacific storm brought it to rest in this quiet cove.
A massive trunk showed me its grain “fingerprints” that distinguish it from every other tree in existence. Only God can read the topographically textured map of its life and know its essence.
My sister and I joined up again and she showed me a myriad of mussels that resembled small footprints in the sand. It was time to create our own footprints back up the trail. Once we reached the top and looked over the cliff, the entire beach seemed small. Yet we knew it contained the vastness of God’s creation, even in one grain of sand.
Rainbows are common in Mendocino—I even saw one during a hailstorm. But I’d never seen a fogbow until today. As my husband and I traipsed along the bluffs at Spring Ranch, we suddenly saw a soft, glowing whiteness—like a dome. Even though I had never seen one, and had only heard the term once, I instantly knew what it was.
What lies over the fogbow? A mind-boggling array of flora I am often unable to identify. The ground is dotted with tiny chartreuse “cabbages,” white stars and shiny-petalled yellow flowers. I later discover their names: footsteps of spring, death camas and California buttercup.
Dangling over the edge of a cliff is a type of ice plant I’ve never seen. The flowers are diminutive and lilac purple, with tiny pointed party hats for centers. Midge-sized flies dance in the powdery white pollen.
A teeny, bright flower winks at me from the grass. A caterpillar slinks by then undulates over a blade of grass, its amber eyes translucent and determined. More ice plants flower in impossibly vivid shades of fuchsia and scarlet. The tips of a pine tree are budding out like mahogany microphones listening for the cries of oystercatchers and terns.
The final view is a turquoise cove with a red-yellow log floating on the water’s surface. Seen from afar, it looks like a toothpick, but closer it is gigantic and could be carved into five canoes. I’m quite sure that what lies over the fogbow is the magical beauty of creation—and it’s our collective calling to enjoy it.
Driving snaky Route 1 on an errand, I notice, in my peripheral vision, particularly high waves crashing on a tiny beach. I find a place to pull over and wind down a path where Pudding Creek spills out into the sea. A single swan is swimming there among ducks, as if it is perfectly normal for swans to be set against a backdrop of seaweed and frothing waves. As I look down at my feet, dune grass, lettuce-edged pink seaweed and a blackish pod create a lovely abstract piece of art.
I mosey along and see a swath of ice plants, their flowers bursting forth like pastel suns, petals erupting from the centers in exclamation points. An intricately patterned snail is nestled inside a lavender-pink bloom, finding nourishment and respite there. I understand why.
I’m inside the beach cove now. Tilting my head up, I see a craggy golden rock. It behooves me to look both up and down, for there is glory both above and below. Arms fling up in praise; knees bend to the sand in prayers of supplication and thankfulness.
While close to the ground, I see a broken twig, its buds like hands clawing the sand. An echinoderm is washed up, its lifeless translucent body and thorny arms gently cup the ocean breeze. From what depths did it travel? A fragile, clear jellyfish filled with bubbles rests nearby. Life and death meet dramatically and beautifully on the northern California coast.
Water trickles down from the rock cliffs making a fresh, minuscule stream across the sandy beach. It meanders near a deceased bird whose wings are half buried, yet still graceful. From what heights did it travel? Sea palms, pulled up from the turbulent waters, resemble fantastical flowers. I know that I, too, can be torn from this life at any time. This is why I appreciate the depths and heights—and why I pull over to explore creation without a moment’s hesitation.
Sondra Sula's Blog: The Nature of Spirituality 