You're at the end of the world. It appears science was wrong - the world is not round, but does indeed have an edge. In fact, you're standing quite near it. But you're not afraid; this place is out of phase with the earth you knew. It's filled with green hills and forests, small ponds shine in the ever sinking sun and twilight is always on the horizon.
In the forest there are people sitting by the fire, wondering how they got there. They are welcomed by the same voice that tells you you've come home, to rest. That voice sings of the world you've left behind and about how it could be. That voice has been there and back. Some of the people on the ground might mistake it for Dylan at first. Not you; you've seen him stride the rolling hills sure footed, you know the depths in his voice and soul. To you, he seems like that mythical Beorn, a roaming forest poet, always with some room to spare by the open hearth.
Or maybe he's Kristian Matsson from Sweden. Right now, at the edge of dreaming, it doesn't really matter.