Pelican Bluffs is a recent acquisition of Mendocino Land Trust (an organization that purchases land for preservation and public use). The shoals there look a bit like a waterlogged cemetery. 
A nearby park bench read: For all at last returns to the sea. The ever flowing stream of time, the beginning and the end.
This cycle we call life is filled with unknowing.
What is around the next bend?
Will it be something beautiful?
Amusing?
Dramatic?
A reminder that we all must expire?
The very place I stood will eventually crumble into the sea. 
But until then I believe I am gently prodded by God to notice new growth. 
To notice what others are working hard to save for us. 
To walk the path all pilgrims must take: The Path of Life.
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’m on edge — which is why tranquil views like this help restore my soul. 
We all age. 
I’m not sure why I’m fascinated by machines. My father was an engineer and perhaps that is why I’ve always respected people who are able to take apart something complex and put it back together again.
When a mini excavator was brought in to clear twenty-six fallen trees in our back woods, I have to admit it gave me a thrill to watch it advance through our side yard and galumph its way into the back woods.
The sad part was what had happened to the woods—tall bull pines and cypress were victims of high winds and soaking rain.
The root balls of many trees had been pulled up, too. These roots, now vertical, towered over my head.
But the claw was here to help.
After the first day of work, the excavator was left in the woods overnight, which enabled me to absorb its powerful charm up close,
as well as inspect its pedals,
bolts
and bucket.
After most of the trees were cleared and the creek cleaned up, I felt a sense of transformation. This portion of woods now had the opportunity to become something else. A meadow? A place of light?
I began my walk in a field. Wild cucumber wound its way through the tall grasses and I noticed an elongated fly-eyed insect on one of the creamy white blooms. Its jagged-edged legs matched the edges of the deep green leaves of the plant. Just beside this scene was a flat area the size of a plate filled with the tiniest pea-like flowers in shades of pink, yellow and white. Each bloom was no more than the size of a lentil, yet boasted an intricate design. And then I saw a ladybug crawling on newly forming rattlesnake grass heads. I couldn’t help but marvel at God’s attention to detail.
I came to a bush bursting with bunches of purple-blue blooms that gave off a feeling of feathery lightness. Pink and red ice plant flowers nearly scorched my eyes with their brightness.
I looked to my left, and a soothing balm of green and light blue relaxed my eyes. The field was dotted with Douglas iris and California poppies. Beige seed heads swayed to the rhythm of the wind almost disappearing into the paleness of the sky.
Down at my feet more color popped into view through spindly blades of grass: delicious orange and striped purple petals.
More flora joined the fun—yellow and blue stars had fallen from the heavens to sprinkle the ground with celestial joy.
Cypress trees beckoned me with their cone-heavy arms to follow the trail to the ocean. I complied.
A breathtaking vista greeted me: fuchsia-hued flowers spilled down a craggy bluff to the frothy jade-turquoise sea. The beauty was so intense I had to sit down lest I fall. Spontaneous psalms of gratitude formed in my head as I breathed the salty air. Paradise.
I decided to explore “The Point” along the Mendocino headlands. After going through a narrow passageway canopied by brush, I arrived at a clearing. The courtyard-esqe opening was surrounded by trees and protected an inviting picnic table. A “doorway”—really just a space between two massive trees—beckoned me toward the light beyond it.
There the ocean swelled and frothed, throwing itself against the jagged bluff. And just outside the “door” a shrine to love was carved into a cypress trunk. Although I don’t advocate the marring of trees, the lovers had worked hard to cut deeply, implying permanence. A nearby plant illustrated this tightly bound love, its stars of rosette leaves interwoven like a tight basket against the harsh wind and salty spray.
As I moved on, hens-and-chicks, ice plants and other flora clung to rock faces in the desperate, tenacious way young lovers often embrace. A mussel shell lay open in the niche of a boulder, still joined at the hip; one side the mirror image of the other—inseparable.
Just before I circled back to the entrance, a dewdrop sparkled in the sun like an engagement diamond—a promise of unending love.
Sondra Sula's Blog: The Nature of Spirituality 