Fata Morgana Mountains

I dreamt I was looking out over an ocean, to the west I was looking, and the ocean stretched into infinity, but something lay between. There were the jutting outcrops of small mountains to my right and left, framing the eye’s sight as one sees when looking out from a bay. Not very far there appeared to be great mountains like the Sierras reaching into the skies. From the distance over the water I could see the details of their snow caps and hidden forests, and I knew at once that this was a land where no one on this side of the waters had been. Was it a Fata Morgana? A fairy’s mirage made to lead me into a trap? But my eyes were fixed. “It is the spirit mountains.” Said my friend behind me -behind me, where I could not see! Like a ghost. She whispered into the back of my skull. “Are they there, or are they not? They are there, but they are not you on this side of the waters to touch.” I remember her words clearly.

Soon others gathered around me, friends with hidden faces. The fragile docks undulated quietly on the banks of the dark sea. Night was coming.

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