I was walking

down a road toward a destination
I didn't know.
The boundary between
earth and sky
was nowhere to be seen,
and everything was suffused
with a faint, grey light.
On either side of me,
and twenty feet off the ground,
suspended by the sheerest
of green threads,
there stretched a line of
jagged granite boulders, rocks
so huge it was as if the violence
of the entire Earth itself had been
required
to tear them from their ancient
mountain sides.
The boulders moved on the threads
as if they were
jagged, rotating
wheels, grinding and
scraping against one another,
yet making no sound.
The threads couldn't possibly hold
the boulders' crushing, overwhelming
weight, and yet,
horrifyingly,
they did.
There should have been hideous,
ear-destroying sound
but the silence persisted,
and the boulders continued their
impossible procession.
It was so far beyond any understanding
that it gripped me
in a fear so terrible
that I wasn't sure I would
survive.
I couldn't speak.
I couldn't run.
And I couldn't leave the road.