Dust on the horizon.
Sancho sees sheep.
Don Quixote sees history.
Two armies. Epic names. Grand destiny.
Reality: wool with legs.
Don Quixote charges anyway. Heroically.
The “enemy” responds with stones. Efficiently.
He ends up broken, missing teeth, still explaining it all as magic and enemies unseen.
Sancho stays loyal… but not convinced.
For me:
Imagination can turn sheep into armies.
Reality tends to throw rocks back.