I was on the Gallia County Farm, standing on the bridge over Symmes Creek in front of the Farmhouse. Several other people were also standing on the bridge, looking over the side at some of the huge rocks along the shore of the creek. I also took an interest in looking at the rocks, and even climbed over the side of the bridge, holding onto a thick rope which dangled over the edge.

As I hung onto the rope, I noticed a stone plaque on the side of the bridge. The plaque was so overgrown with white lichens, I couldn't read the words engraved on the plaque. The only words I could clearly see were "New York." I thought it seemed strange for the words "New York" to be on a little bridge here in Ohio.

As I was climbing back up on the bridge, I noticed a small boy, not more than three or four years old, sitting precariously close to the edge of the bridge. Just as I stood back up on the bridge, the boy slipped and fell off the bridge. I ran over to the spot where he had fallen, and looked down into the muddy waters below. Seeing that he had disappeared beneath the water, I screamed out that someone must save him. I myself started to run off the bridge. But first I had to stop and pull another small boy back from the edge of the bridge, a boy sitting in the same spot from where the first boy had fallen. Once I had pulled the second boy to safety, I dashed off the bridge and down the steep bank to the creek.

When I reached the edge of the creek, I looked out over the surface, but could see nothing. Realizing I couldn't afford to waste time, I dove headfirst into the water toward the spot where I thought the boy had fallen. But after I surfaced, I couldn't seem to go back under water again. My body was too buoyant, as if I were filled with air. Finally I simply stayed on the surface and began trying to feel below me with my feet. Suddenly I felt the boy with my feet, and I reached down and pulled him up.

I quickly made my way back to the shore and pulled the little boy up on the bank. Seeing that he wasn't breathing, I began hitting him on the back trying to get him to breathe again. Slowly I realized the little boy was my brother Chris. I thought I saw his tongue move out of his mouth, but it didn't happen again and he didn't start breathing. I turned to the people still standing up on the bridge and I hollered, "He's not breathing!"

Suddenly I seemed to also be on the bridge again, looking down at the creek. It abruptly occurred to me I was dreaming. I knew I was looking down at the very spot where my brother Adolph had drowned so many years ago. I also knew I had had many many dreams about this very spot. Obviously, the tragic death of my brother was the cause of these dreams. But why would the dreams not stop? I saw no purpose for these dreams any more. The dreams didn't cause me pain. But they had become a bit of a nuisance, and seemed to no longer serve any purpose.

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