Peaceful flood Dream of clear Water and a childhood Dog

"I was standing on the porch of a house I've never owned, holding a heavy ceramic bowl filled with raw rice for some reason I didn't question. The sky was this quiet, bruised shade of purple, completely motionless, but water was rising up from the cracks in the asphalt out front. It wasn't rushing or violent at all-just a slow, thick tide creeping higher and higher until the parked cars on the street started drifting away like plastic toys. Normally I'd lose my mind over something like that, but I just leaned against the railing and took a deep breath. The water was so clear you could see the grass underneath swaying like seaweed. My childhood dog-who passed away years ago-walked out from behind a bush and sat right next to me, completely dry, just watching the waterline creep up the front steps. Then suddenly we were sitting inside a sunroom, and the water was pressing right up against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. It was like living inside a giant fish tank. I could hear this soft, low humming noise echoing through the glass, almost like a purr. I knew everything outside was completely covered, all my old stuff, the whole neighborhood, but I just felt this deep, heavy stillness in my chest. I didn't care about getting away or saving anything. I just leaned my forehead against the cool glass and watched a wooden kitchen chair float past, completely content to just stay right there. "