Slept in.  Outside my old window door (again no screen–maybe they are not afraid of what they might let in?) a rusting roof slants –in the distance a steeple.  Feels and smells like fall but with promise.

Last night Lindsey said Auschwitz is about perspective.  Man’s frightening propensity to look the other way: not me, not me, not me.  I read somewhere that people in Auschwitz never opened their windows.