|
The smell of the redwoods deep, remote, pervasive a small grove in the vastness of everything else. |
|
Yet here before the coastline breaks through the foliage the small grove seems to say "far enough." |
|
The coast isolated protected only by the vagaries of steep fragile bluffs and fog-bound seasons feels no pity and strike no bargains except with those elemental forces whose "come no closer" is framed by its breathtaking shoreline. |
|
The town of Mendocino sensibly grabs onto this landscape gracefully makes tribute to the sea and is thankful for the scarce allotment ceded to it. |
|
Wood-framed weathered buildings without vanity accept their subservience gather tightly together providing shelter for the few who are willing to leave everything behind if only for the moment. |
|
These few some with trepidation confront one of nature's most awe-inspiring spectacles -- the ceaseless struggle of land, sky, and ocean never a winner never a conclusion always a tomorrow. |
|
Entering this town in this place is no accident the unconscious seeks itself stripped of daily hometown tasks cut off from the manic rampages of humanity's civilized purposes. |
|
Here all elements unite no artifice survives here we become one again know how it could be if only . . . . |
| There are no good-byes in Mendocino. |
|
Times closes behind us when we leave on the long road home. |
|
The ancient redwoods are no longer merciful. |
| - Charles Martell |
___________________________________________________________
| click here to return to the previous page |