I am being transported in a large aeroplane and am the only passenger. The plane takes off from the runway but can’t gain height, so is roaring along wide streets, keeping at the height of the top floors of the buildings. I can see through the windows, people moving, gesticulating, the day heavy and thundery. I trust the pilot’s skill, but realize the end is approaching.

Now I’m floating with no aeroplane, moving my arms in a special way and rising easily from the ground. I am surprised that I have never tried to fly before, when it is so simple. At the same time, I realize this is a special gift, and not everyone can fly. Some who can fly a bit have to strain to thepoint of exhaustion, their arms bent and the sinews in their necks tense. I float unhindered like a bird.

I find myself above a plain, a steppe presumably. It’s bound to be Russia. I float over a huge river and a high bridge. Below the bridge, a brick building protrudes out into the river and clouds of smoke are billowing out of the chimneys. I can hear the roar of machinery. It’s a factory.

The river now curves around in a great bend, the banks wooded, the panorama infinite. The sun has gone behind the clouds, but the shadow less light is strong. The water flows along green and transparent in a wide furrow. Sometimes I see shadows moving over stones in the depths and there are huge shimmering fish. I am calm and full of confidence.