a wide open plain, surrounded by mountains, and on every one of them sits a dragon. no one knows they're there.
and down on the plain a guesthouse, round and domed and with wings on either side. inside the rooms are full of pictures and many of them are dragons, smiling out, reading books, drinking cups of tea.
and the dragons come down from the mountains to visit, but no one knows they're there. they tap on the windows but people don't see them. they see and they don't see. it couldn't have been a dragon, i must have imagined it! and no one tells anyone else because who sees dragons at the window?
in the middle of the night one sleeps on the dome. the others fly around and then go back to the mountains. the smaller ones sit in the trees and wait till morning.
inside, people walk and talk and enjoy their meals. they go back to their rooms and look at the pictures, and read the books. some are about dragons. "oh dragon, come to me" one reads out, then smiles at himself: the absurdity. whoever decorated this place?
the window knocks and a dragon looks in. he doesn't see it.
later, they gather to study and discuss important results. the dragons listen from outside.
dinner is served. the dragons are getting impatient! they fly in circles over the roof and sometimes dance on it.
in the evening, a little light music. the dragons don't like it. open up!
someone opens a window.
the dragons look in. they're smiling. they seem to have something to say to us.
we don't remember. somebody thinks he went flying with them, but that isn't possible. someone else remembers talking, or hearing something, or a trip to the mountains and back. someone knows them personally. we see dragon-scales in the morning, on the floor, so maybe it actually happened.
no one wants to talk about it.
later that day they leave and the house is empty.
the dragons fly over, then settle down on the roof. the caretaker returns.