My Dream Pt. 1

I am standing on the waterline of a swamp. Behind me is a sheer, rocky, volcanic cliff wall that stretches off to my left, to the east, as far into the distance as I am aware. Around me the boulders are fused together and enormous, and their shadows are dark. The water immediately before me is black and still, but sweeping away from me it blends first into a deep, pine green, then grows more vibrant until it coagulates into an algaeic lime so rich it glows through the underbrush. As I scan the area of the swamp I see it ripple at the base of many thick clumps of tall, dry grass that waves in the breeze.
I find myself navigating a wooden raft between the weeds and around small islands that support gnarled, stunted trees. Though I am unaware of the specific position of the sun, it seems now to me that it is simultaneously early morning, midafternoon, and late evening. It is hot, and the heat strikes me suddenly. I remember the cool rocks at the shoreline, I almost miss the shade the cliff face provided.
The weeds have become sparse, and the raft now seems to move under its own power toward the pinnacle of a jagged peninsula just west of where I had been standing. It is there, I know, that I will find a cave, and a tunnel, and something like an ancient temple or pyramid buried beneath the volcanic mountain, which I will explore. I have the sense that this is a route that I have taken many times before; a secret route that I have often used to make my way from place to place. I am filled with a childlike thrill. I am happy.
As I float through the swamp images come to me of other places I have visited via this path. I see faces of cheerful people who wait for me there, of whose existence no one is aware but me. I miss them.