To add substance to Saint Stephen’s day, the one on high sent an amazing storm to Motovun just after mass. It rained and hailed and thundered for quite a while. Some of the thunderbolts landed pretty close to my house. The whole house shook and I cowered in awe each and every time. The power supply conked out soon after the storm started, and it is anyone’s guess when it will be restored. It has been a couple of hours already. When the storm subsided a bit, I opened the shutters of a door leading to the terrace. It was covered with hailstones, many of which were the size of partridge eggs. It looked as though it had snowed. The terrace was filled with water, too. I took an umbrella and went out to unplug the two grills that drain the terrace, but I found them in perfect order. So much water had come down so fast that the grills could not swallow it. When I opened the front door, I saw foaming torrents coming down Borgo. Hailstones large and small filled every nook and cranny down the street. “We get the message,” I grinned toward the sky. “This is only a warning, right?” What are patron saints for, anyway?