The believing soft lats are staggering in both their size and scope.

I adjust my sunglasses and look out over the expanse, the breezless air cool against

my skin, soft and dream like mountains, low and silver, shimmer in the far distance.

They are the only objects in my field of vision that mark any kind of horizon.

A thin layer of rainwater, one that barely reaches up above the sole of my shoes, covers

the endless plains ahead and all around.

They have turned the ground into a great and impossible mirror, a mirror that reflects

the blue of the sky and the thick, full white of the clouds so uncannily that to the human

eye they become as one.

I stand in the centre of a place outside the realms of possibility, beyond the laws

of rationality and sense.

I turn my palms outwards and face them up to the sky, and I close my eyes.

I breathe in slow and deep, and I exhale.

I've always wanted to visit this place.

My girlfriend didn't want to, she said it would be a waste of money, she said a lot of

things.

Eventually she said she was going to break up with me, so that was that, her loss.

I open my eyes and turn in a circle.

I look around.

A little in the distance is the bus, surrounded by a tall group.

They walk and amble from place to place with reflections in tow, weightless, floating.

But the bus appears to be suspended in mid-air.

...