A letter from Domme to Gisl and Hans [in Washington DC] in February 1946

On a bold and defiant rock

our village rises up.

Heavy towers, strong walls

offered protection to all the peasants of Domme.

The noise of big cities doesn’t intrude here.

Here, it feels like the end of the world.

Foxes here have considered that

and bid each other “goodnight”.

We're not going to hide it

and are grateful for it -

if we don’t have enough furniture

the packing crates arrive just in time.

Joyful children’s games

surround the happy parents;

and so work continues cheerily,

only slightly disrupted here in this place.

God lived here once, magnificently and joyfully,

but times have changed considerably.

Now he’s moved to another country

and lives there pleasantly as an emigrant.

    Thus we are now all godforsaken,

    one has to see it to really understand;

    so we'll try to compromise

    and describe the situation in words and 

         pictures.

Thus, I pick up the pen -

the verses, you see, are all by Peter.

And Friedl wielded the paintbrush and the scissors,

to tell you our story across the vast ocean.

Quick as the wind, surely,

mail gets delivered these days.

But from the post office to you

it takes three days, or maybe four.

If you decide under great urgency

to go outside in spite of the pouring rain,

you somehow have to protect yourself

otherwise you’ll never get to town.