h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

So the Angel said: 'Thy phantasy has imposed upon me, and thou oughtest to be ashamed.
- William Blake

It was a beautiful fall day, crisp and coloured with blue and red and gold. The Traveller looked down the dusty road he was walking. He was tired. A stone bench invited, so he sat down.

He opened the book he was carrying at the marked place, and read.

'Many survived, only to be washed out into salt water, perishing in this alien environment, or becoming tasty morsels for bigger animals.'

'Hm,' he thought, and closed the book. Instead, he listened to a noisy jay in a nearby tree.

A number of other travellers passed by as he watched. Many ignored him. They seemed to have a goal in mind and no time for chatter. Others nodded pleasantly, or wished him a good journey. He waved back at the throng: some in fine clothing, others in tatters. Every costume represented, from togas to fine lace to tweed to sweatsuits. All headed down the same road – over the far horizon and around a bend to who-knew-where.

The Traveller spotted a particularly interesting stranger approaching. He was noteworthy: a fine figure of a man, bearded, ruddy-faced, and cheerful, in a green uniform. A relic of some bygone war, no doubt. He was singing as he strode along.

'Halfway down the trail to Hell
in a shady meadow green,
are the Souls of all dead troopers camped
near a good old-time canteen,
and this eternal resting place is known as Fiddlers' Green.'

The Traveller smiled at the Soldier. 'Where are you going?' he asked.

'Not far,' was the reply. 'Want to come with me?'

The Traveller nodded. He joined the Soldier. Sure enough, at the bend in the road, there was a camp: rows of tidy tents. Campfires, well-tended. Men and women and children, chatting and singing. Horses gamboled in the meadow.

The Traveller waved a greeting to the throng, and nodded a farewell to his companion, who went to join his friends. He headed to the low-slung cabin tavern, from which fiddle music could be heard, and singing.

'Though some go curving down the trail to seek a warmer scene,
no trooper ever gets to Hell ere he's emptied his canteen
and so rides back to drink again with friends at Fiddlers' Green.'

You lifting the veil again?

Suffering from history overload, I guess.

Or someone's passing you a message?

They do that a lot, especially around this time of the year.