The house quaked; lightning flashed a grayish-white
streak across the steepled buildings,
all the way to the harbor. It became dark, a blanket of red laughing
at me. The plum tree shook. The branch upon which I rested, moaned
as it bounced up and down. 
The horse whinnied. The ducks panicked. Fear fluttered
inside me as the chickens flew
around the hen house. Wind blew into the trees, whistling and
crackling. In the house, Ciocia’s gramophone scratched a
Polish Mazurka. From the plum tree, I heard her sing and dance
with the rolling thunder. 
Tears streamed from my eyes. Instinctively, I climbed
down the tree and ran to her, grabbing the bottom of her dress.
Synek, do not cry," she reassured me. Ciocia wore a red gown,
making her appear like
a Polish noblewoman. A cigarette burned in the ash tray; a half-empty
glass of schnapps sat on the table. "Synek, the thunder frightened
you. Bozia, our mighty God cleared his throat. Bozia macht 'grr.’
God growled," Synek, she explained. "He watches over
everything and cried because someone probably did something wrong.
Bozia is good. You’re only afraid."
The music played. As the machine slowed, she reached behind the
gramophone and handed me my favorite treat: freshly baked, stiffly
beaten, egg whites mixed with sugar, and gave me the spoon to
lick dropped onto a pan to make cookies.
The thunder continued to rumble constantly outside the farmhouse.
Bozia was clearing His throat again and again. Nevertheless, with
Ciocia's love and reassurance, I walked to my bedroom and ventured
into contented sleep.
In the morning, a clear light streaked through my bedroom window.
Outside, the red
rooster crowed. Still remembering the calamity of the previous
night, I ran to Ciocia again. "Ciocia, Ciocia. Did Bozia
macht 'grr’ last night?" I chuckled anxiously.
Ciocia’s black eyes smiled, as she made the pancakes for
breakfast. Sparkles glistened on her high cheekbones. She came
to me, took me by the hand and led me outside the back door. Her
hand guided my eyes to the sky and across the landscape. Chirping
birds sang
in chorus with the wind. The morning enjoyed a calm fresh, harmony.
"Synek," Ciocia said, caressing
my cheek, "Bozia macht 'gut.’ Nature is God’s domain.
Never be afraid to ask His advice."
I ran up the plum tree, back to my roost amidst the sun 
and sky. Nellie, Ciocia’s collie dog, chased behind
me, wagging her tail and barking up the tree trying to catch me.
Baby, the goose, waddled around the yard, honking after the dog.
