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“НАШЕ ЖИТТЯ”, ЛИПЕНЬ-СЕРПЕНЬ 2015 WWW.UNWLA.ORG 23 У пам’ять бл. п. Аріадни Лапичак-Бах скла- даємо 100 дол. Микола Дармохвал і Зоріяна Гафткович. У пам’ять бл. п. Аріадни Лапичак-Бах скла- даю 50 дол. Володимир Мотика. В пам’яь незабутньої посестри і довголітньої пресової референтки колишнього 47-го Відділу СУА в Рочестері, бл.п. Аріядни Бах зложили: по 25 дол. – Ірина Руснак, Дора Сторожинська; по 10 дол. – Ольга Червінська, Марія Лилак, Анна Соxоцька; 5 дол. – Люба Баран. У пам’ять бл. п. Аріадни Лапичак-Бах скла- даю 100 дол. Ореста Ткачук. In memory of Mrs. Ariadna Lapychak-Bach I am donation $100. Chrystyne L. Murskyj. У пам’ять бл. п. Віри Криштальської складаю 50 дол. Анна Бойчук. У пам’ять бл. п. Ірини Зєлик складаємо 250 дол. Мирон і Ольга Гнатейки. У пам’ять бл. п. Ірини Зєлик складаю 100 дол. на УМ. Наталка Соневицька. У пам’ять бл. п. Марії Рихвіцької складаю 100 дол. Катря Червоняк. У пам’ять бл. п. Марії Хемич складаю 100 дол. Ірина Куровицька. У пам’ять бл. п. Мирослава Шміґеля складаю 100 дол. Ірина Куровицька. Щиро дякуємо за підтримку! Управа і адміністрація УМ Cont. from p. 19 The storm caught Matiy, Mykhaylo’s neigh- bor, along with his horses and wagon, in a field abutting the forest. The wind swept dust into his eyes and tried to turn his wagon around; the lightning and thunder terrified the horses. He had to resign himself to God’s will. He unharnessed the horses, tied them to the wagon frame, and sat down under it to wait out the storm. Then he heard the forest groaning—the wind was rushing through it, and the trees were bending like stalks of wheat in a field. A crashing, deafening roar struck terror in his breast, and his heart stopped beating. Thun- derbolts took unerring aim, clouds jostled one another, and then, suddenly, the clouds, the for- est, and the fields all disappeared, and there was only the noise, the roaring, and water... The rain slowly weakened; it became quiet- er, and a cool, clear, translucent brightness flood- ed the air. Water flowed in the ditches, soft white clouds drifted over the sky, and the sun wiped its tearstained face. From the fields wafted the fresh- ness of grass and flowers. The grainfields luxuri- ated in the pristine water, happy that the hail- storm, having passed them by, had exhausted and mocked the forest instead. Broken branches and torn leaves, mixed with ice, lay in piles. Trees, torn out by their roots, were leaning on their stronger companions, pressing heavily down upon them. Others, the ones at the forest’s edge, were lying uprooted in ditches, and water was angrily, noisily, and laboriously breaking through the ob- structions placed in its path. It took Matiy a long time to regain his sens- es; he looked around as if he could not believe that he was still living, and that nothing had hap- pened to him. He sighed deeply and crossed himself. It was so quiet, so peaceful, that if it were not for his wet clothing, the terrified horses, and the forest that had been shattered and pounded by the hailstorm, he would have thought it was all a terrible nightmare. Just then, something struck him on the forehead. A lump of ice—blue like a dove’s egg—was lying at his feet. He picked it up and bit into it; inside were found four leaflets—from a poplar, a maple, an aspen, and a fir. English translation by Roma Franko; edited by Sonia Morris Reprinted with permission from The Spirit of the Times: Selected Prose Fiction by Olena Pchilka and Nataliya Kobrynska. (Women's Voices in Ukrainian Literature, Vol. I). Saskatoon, SK, Canada: Language Lanterns Publi- cations, 1998. Pp. 439-43.
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