Explore "Road Back" by Erich Maria Remarque on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The meadows are wet and from the pathways and tracks the water runs gurgling. In the pocket of my greatcoat is a small pickle-jar and I walk along the brook by the poplars. As a youngster I used to catch fish and butterflies here, and here I used to lie down under the trees and dream.
In springtime it would be full of water-weeds and frog spawn. Bright green bushes of water-weed flickered to and fro in the little, clear waves, long-legged skaters zig-zagged between the stalks of the sedge, and shoals of tittlebats in the sun cast their swift, slim shadows on the golden-spotted sand.