Confused

The otherwise pleasant looking vista from outside my window today looked for me like a barren desert. A desert which has nothing in itself, except illusions in the name of mirage. A desert which has nothing more than delusion. Just last year in summer, I remember vividly, I used to look out of my window and wonder how beautiful the world is. I remember the birds singing on the branches of the pine tree in the nearby farm. I also remember the beetles making love on its leaves. I remember them all. But, was it just a figment of the imagination? A hallucination? Were what I considered existent just my imaginations or were my imaginations factual? I am lost in nowhere measuring the differences between veracity and fiction.