Where the Kolaches Rise

The day Max got caught sneaking one too many kolaches from Grandma’s cooling rack,

his mom called him a “wild thing” and sent him to his room—

without even a single prune-filled pastry.

That night, Max’s room turned soft and doughy,

and the walls turned into poppy seed clouds

and sweet cottage cheese skies,

and a cinnamon-sugar breeze carried him away

across the rolling hills of Northeast Nebraska

to the Kolache Capital of the World—Verdigre.

And when Max arrived, the kolaches were rising—

apricot and cherry, peach and raspberry—

swelling like little golden crowns in a warm bakery window.

Out popped the Kolache King and Queen,

their scepters dusted with powdered sugar,

and they roared their sticky-sweet roars

and flaked their buttery flakes

and named Max the Wildest Baker of All.

So Max danced the doughy dance

with the Kolache Creatures,

through the riverbanks and bakery halls,

shouting,

“Let the kolache-making begin!”

They rolled and filled,

twisted and baked,

until the stars smelled like streusel

and the moon turned into a giant apricot.

But soon Max grew tired

of wild things and wild sugar,

and he missed someone who would love him

even after the last kolache was gone.

So he gave back his rolling pin crown

to the Kolache King and Queen,

and the creatures cried sweet cherry tears,

but they waved goodbye with floury paws

as Max drifted back through cinnamon skies.

And when he got home…

a warm kolache was waiting for him.