Last night, I dreamt about planets. Somewhat in a Demian way I guess, although I wasn't quite in love with them. Then again, it wasn't far from it.

It was late night in the dream too, and I was making my way home. The city was still my city, but it had changed. Towering skyscrapers of glass and steel were looming all around, and instead of my modest, suburban house, I was living on, or close to the top floor of one of them.
I hadn't much farther to walk when I out of old habit, apparently, looked up, and there they were: Mars, Jupiter and Saturn, hovering in the sky. Not in the shape of the usual dots you might expect to see though, but close, and large - impossibly large. Three semi-spheres, five, or perhaps six times the size of a regular full moon, simply hanging there, almost forming a triangle in a somewhat gravity-defying way.

Saturn glowed a faint green, its rings a little lighter. On Jupiter, appearing a little larger than Saturn, I could pick out the Great Red Spot and the seemingly parallel white and red-brownish lines. Mars was as red as always, and I dreamt of dust, of pink skies, of The Long Years and of Barsoom.
It was about the same size as Jupiter from where I stood, and suddenly the idea of leaping out of the atmosphere, of holding my breath while floating through space, landing on each of these planets, and being welcomed and embraced by them, didn't seem all that far-fetched. The planets were my friends.

I breathed in, and looked again. When squinting, ever so faintly, I thought I could make out the Galilean moons around Jupiter: Io, Europa, Ganymede and Callisto - they were all there. And hovering close to Saturn, of course, its lone giant satellite, Titan.

With this, I woke up. Perchance I got overexcited with the prospects laid out before me, or perhaps it was just bad timing. Dreams have a tendency to quit on you just when you're getting ready for some serious action, but in this case, I hold no grudge. While it lasted, it was a glorious dream, painting me a picture I've always wanted to see, brighter and clearer than my daydreaming imagination ever could have done.
In retrospect, the choice of those very planets and the triangle probably wasn't all that strange*, although there are a fair deal of solar system sights I often imagine.

I'd like to see the Sun from Mercury, as a giant, flaming disc. Or stand on Titan, see if the sky is really blue, and watch Saturn rise, enormous at this distance, watching you wherever you go, almost close enough to grab at. There would not be much of a tangible gravital pull, of course, but it's nice to imagine it.
Sometimes I feel I would want to see the Sun from Pluto, too - just a little brighter than the thousands of stars surrounding it. At five and a half light-hours from the Sun and with temperatures around -220°C (-365F), Pluto appears to be our closest epitome of Antarctic woes. Desolate, cold, and dark. I'd sit there among the rock and ice and watch the sun from afar, and I'd be an outcast, exiled from home forever.