I dreamt that I was walking along a vast river with low, featureless banks. I knew it was the Thames, but it looked quite different than any part of the river I had ever seen. On its way through Reading, for instance, it is much smaller and its banks are high. The water was clear and it appeared blue on the surface. It looked like a recently made lake still devoid of life, not like a river. And then I saw a man walking across. He appeared to be walking on water. When I came closer, I recognized him. It was Dave—the porter from my building at the University of Reading. “Dave,” I yelled and waved at him happily, “you’re walking on water!” He waved back with a big grin on his face. He seemed to be a bit puzzled by the experience himself. But when I came still closer, I saw that he was walking on a sand bridge stretching across the river. It was so low that it was invisible from far away. Soon I was on it, too. I was barefoot. The bridge was narrow and straight. There were footprints everywhere. The bridge was recently made, as well. The sand was almost white. It was dry and very fine under my feet. On both sides I could see it sloping gently into the water, which was clear and completely still. There was no sign of life anywhere. I woke up before I reached the other bank of the river, but it was within easy reach.