I’m standing at the edge of a deep ravine or canyon, like something out of a Western, Arizona or so. The sun is shining very brightly; it’s hot. I’m on the west side and looking across the abyss to the other side. Suddenly, a rider appears there, sees me, and waves. I spontaneously wave back. He seems to take this as a sign that he can continue riding safely, and after just a few meters, he falls. There’s no sound; there’s complete silence. I’m quite shocked by this fall and am still pondering how it could have happened when a four-horse carriage with heavy horses emerges from the bushes on the other side. The driver also waves to me again; his gestures are expansive, using his whole arm, and are clearly visible from a distance. Once again, I am so delighted by this wave, this friendly gesture, that I wave back vigorously. And once again, the entire carriage plunges into the ravine. Now I am rather worried and venture to the edge of the precipice to see if I can spot anything of those who have fallen. But now I am looking into a large glass filled with water and can clearly see the horses’ bodies, their legs spread wide, slowly floating downwards, rotating on their own axis, all completely silent—a fascinating, yet disturbing sight. The carriage and the driver have also disappeared into the abyss in this way. They can be seen on the bottom as small black spheres. I get a magnifying glass and can now see the horses’ bodies very clearly. Now I’m feeling a bit uneasy and cautiously approach the rocky precipice to see how deep it actually is and whether I can see anything of the fallen climbers. The whole area is very confusing, though: bushes, tall fir trees, ferns, twilight. I climb over moss-covered boulders, etc., then it becomes too steep and I see that it must be very deep. There’s no sign or sound of the fallen climbers. Then I return to my position above and observe the other side again. A lone rider appears again. I see him riding through the bushes, but from close up, as if I had binoculars. The man sees me and makes another sweeping arm gesture, which pleases me so much that I immediately wave back. This rider also falls right after. Now I’m really puzzled and alarmed. Something’s not right here; it’s becoming clear to me that my waving back was seen as a sign to ride on, that everything was alright, that there was no danger, and now I also understand that I’m here in the first place to operate some kind of winch to the other bank, or some kind of rope bridge, and my waving was the signal that this bridge could be crossed safely, which apparently wasn’t the case. Now I have a terrible pang of conscience about it and look down again more closely. I look back into the large glass of water and see tiny black dots floating at the bottom. At first, I think that these can’t be the people who fell, but then I get the magnifying glass and see that the larger spheres are the horses’ bodies; you can clearly see the four legs. I have some more thoughts and accusations and imagine that the bodies down there must be completely shattered. Quite clearly, I think: they are completely unrecognizable from the fall, but that leaves the carriage, which can’t have disappeared entirely, or the bodies are immediately removed by birds and scavengers, so that only the skeletons are visible. I’m still thinking that a riverside path will surely be built here at some point, and that walkers will only find the bones and have no idea what actually happened here. I’m also having various thoughts about how the bodies are disposed of: whether the dead are eaten, for example, despite their clothing. I’m also thinking about the mass falls of wild horses into canyons in America, and that’s how I arrive at conscious thought while awake.