Bright cool morning light shines through the window.

Today I go to Auschwitz, but first must walk the city blocks up to the square, passing shuttered houses along the way.  I know this before I see it.  This town is later, lazy.  In New York day or night the streets teem with people, except Sunday mornings at dawn, when the city finally sleeps, or just forgets.  Dawn comes early here, the sun up minutes after it has gone down.  At 9:30 it is still light, day changing slowly to dusk. Yesterday afternoon’s melancholy hangs on, fitting the day like a gray sweater.