His canoe scraped onto the beach. The water scratched the hull. The canoe came to a stop and would not budge. Under the hull, the water shattered into triangular pieces that perfectly reflected the sky above. He stood up and leaned over and saw his reflection in the mirror shards.
Behind him, the wake of his canoe trailed a snake-like pattern across the crystal-clear lake, as if his canoe had been a brush and the water had been acrylic paint. And off in the distance, the bifurcation split the sky like a badly stitched tear in a jacket.
He thought that if he chose to walk back across the lake toward that tear, he could make the journey easily. The water was only a suggestion, just like the beach was only a suggestion. Nothing in this place had the substance he was accustomed to back home.
The only face he saw reflected back in the segmented water was his own, but he would never have created this place, not even in his deepest dreams. Only one thing here was his, and he hadn’t found it yet.
That crazy woman back home had told him how to get here and how to navigate it. “Keep moving until you reach your destination,” she’d said. “Everything in there is pure and wonderful, but it is not for you. Except for one thing. Focus on that one thing.”
Somewhere in this living dreamscape, he’d find him. Jeffrey had died weeks ago, but here, he’d be alive. That was the only dream that mattered.
***
Image Source: Photographer Uses 17 Square Meters Of Mirror For This Epic Shot
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