The Medocino Coast in winter. Tall redwood trees, fog and mist. A December of the soul. Hills of fern and moss. Mushrooms of all varieties appearing on the forest floor as if through spontaneous generation. And then the ocean. Seething and surging against craggy outcroppings of rock and sand. Savage in its beauty. Grand in its ferocity. Romantic with a capital R. A communion with the sublime. Ah, but when all is almost lost in the most purple of prose, the perfect sunset.
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