I came across a rock at the beginning of my walk engraved with the words:
my life
your death
the narrow stream between us
flows away
The anniversary of my father’s death was just around the bend. 
Complex feelings. 
I thought of all those I’ve known who have passed before me 
and have touched my life. 
I walked down a series of steps 
and eventually came to a bench. 
I sat down and contemplated the rock’s poem. 
I was at the end of the trail.
But was I, really?
I knew there had to be more. 
I turned and found a different path with a different bench 
and a different ending. 
I wondered: was the stream flowing away or toward?
Perhaps it depended upon which bench I chose to sit.
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 went to Redwoods Monastery in Whitethorn, California at the brink of autumn instead of spring as I had done last year. 
I’m feeling lost. How do I find direction?
Which way should I go?
If I take the path I’ve used before, will I get there faster?
If I discover a new path,
will it be precarious and difficult? 
These paths that seem disparate are connecting at The Source! I choose one and move on.
Every morning during my silent retreat at Redwoods Monastery I climbed a steep forest trail. 
Joy, 
Have you ever felt like you’ve entered an enchanted forest? I have. Numerous times, in fact. 
Nothing says spring like its flowers. Take the trillium. Its trinitarian stance always reminds me of Easter: three leaves, three sepals, three petals and a three-pronged stigma. 
Winter on the Mendocino coast is unlike any previous winter I’ve experienced. Blankets of snow are replaced by buckets of rain, and slippery ice by slick mud. Temperatures hover above freezing rather than below, so litter is never swept under the rug of pristine white snowflakes until spring.
A trinity of leaves strewn over the pygmy-poor sand overlap, like family. One is heart-shaped and facing down so that its back veins protrude, forming a miniature tree.
I pass what I presume to be car parts. I am mesmerized by the way four compartments hold water and forest detritus in a rusted engine block as if this were their intended function. The inner workings of a wheel appear to be a clock telling of timelessness.
A pale greenish yellow plastic disc hidden in grass emits a yo-yo-like charm. Even though it is most likely the wheel off a cart, it reminds me how children, when unwrapping presents, often play with the boxes. How they can make dolls out of hollyhock flowers, clothespins or corn husks.
I am offered more presents as I round a bend: a halved pine cone, an axe-chewed bough—its tip an orange flame, a wooden crown fashioned by termites.
My final gifts stand under a small redwood whose needled arms hover as if in blessing. They are fairy-tale mushrooms, otherwise known as amanita muscaria, packaged in brilliant red studded with white. Their graceful gills rise upward to receive their blessing. I, too, have received mine.
Sometimes I feel old. But walking in the ancient bristlecone pine forest among the oldest living organisms on earth—these trees—makes me feel young. One pine named Methuselah is over 4,700 years old, living more than half its life before Jesus was even born! I ponder what this tree has witnessed…
Approaching the forest, the landscape seems too desolate to harbor any flora. But as I gain elevation in these White Mountains—a high desert range—I am surprised by spheres of golden flowers, puffs of bristly brush and good-sized green conifers.
But there’s nothing quite like the wildly twisted trunks of these anthropomorphic bristlecone pines, flailing their multiple arms upward in pleading gestures. I wonder: Are they praying for us; for rain?
They have made adversity their friend, not living thousands of years despite their harsh conditions, but because of them. They’ve taken advantage of a climate in which few others can survive. Seeing them I ask: How can I approach adversity differently?
All photos © Sondra Sula.
Old logging roads form a number of trails near the place I now call home. They are used by hikers, joggers, ATV enthusiasts, mountain bikers, dog walkers, equestrians—you name it. Some of the roads get plenty of traffic, while others are nearly forgotten. But all of them have gifts to offer.
The sun shone through tips of prickly thistles, curvy-edged leaves and the fuzzy hairs fringing dried Scotch broom pods. Although these plants are quite ordinary on the northern California coast, the strong light gave me the feeling that they were extraordinary.
That feeling of specialness extended to the debris I encountered, too. An exhaust pipe looked as if it were sneaking into the woods to reunite with its muffler. A perforated piece of rusty metal brought garden-row order to the chaos of emerging seedlings. And a cobra-like bungee cord, caught mid slink, gave off an air of regalness despite its current state of being trod upon.
All photos © Sondra Sula.
Sondra Sula's Blog: The Nature of Spirituality 