We are held prisoner in a house in Yekaterinburg that
looks across the river and the plain to the mountains.
In the bed of the river there are pebbles and
boulders, dry and white in the sun, and the water
is clear and swiftly moving and blue in the channels.
Troops go by the house and down the road and
the dust they raise powders the leaves of the trees.
Sometimes in the dark we hear the troops marching under
the window and guns going past pulled by motor-tractors. There
are many mules on the roads with boxes of ammunition.
Paraphrases from the novel A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway.