My enduring memory of Mendocino shall always be waves on a rocky coast. The rock, pretending to be unyeilding, yet eroding away little by little against the persistence of the waves. The waves, unrelenting, insane, almost as if each wave were driven by a crazy sergeant major, who believes that if he has enough men, they can overwhelm any enemy.
Chill wind, in a meadow with chardonnay, and sheep pretending to be buffalo.
The company of friends. The absence of something to do, somewhere to get.
The now-ness and the here-ness of the moment. That is a memory worth having!