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Colonnades

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Pure Michigan Lit

S.M.A.G. Kindness Among Bloggers

S.M.A.G., Norah Colvin, @NorahClovin

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Colonnades of white lend a regal elegance to a building or porch. Until you realize what happens in the shadows and that not all institutions uplift humanity. Thus begins the stroll through colonnades of many different origins.

Writers used the architecture as a literary device — to support ideas. Take a stroll through stories on an unexpected journey.

The following are based on the January 17, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes colonnades.

Part I (10-minute read)

Never Give Up by Norah Colvin

The solid grey wall stretched without end, both left and right —impenetrable, no way around, no way through. Perhaps a way over? Even from that distance, it appeared unscaleable.

He removed his backpack and rested his head upon it as he lay, gazing upward. He sighed heavily. He’d trekked so far believing this was the way. How could he have been so wrong?

He closed his eyes and drifted into a deep sleep. Refreshed, upon awakening, he decided to continue rather than retreat.

As he drew closer, the wall separated into columns spaced perfectly to allow an easy passage.

🥕🥕🥕

Pillars by The Dark Netizen

The colonnades have stood for ages.

Tall, sturdy, and white, they stood strong in all weathers. They sheltered my grandfather when he watched the black slaves toil in our fields. It sheltered my father when he freed the slaves and paid them honest wages to work the farms. And now, the great pillars shelter me as I fight alongside my friends of colour against the invaders. We will stand together, to make sure that the pillars stand for our sons. The pillars will shelter my son as he watches a free, united nation take birth.

The pillars won’t fall…

🥕🥕🥕

In the Orchard by Anne Goodwin

In the orchard, I kissed him. Between the colonnades of conference, comice and Cox’s Orange Pippin, tasted nectar on his tongue. Amid the scent of ripened fruit, I smelled the sweat of weeks on the run. We made a bed of fallen leaves, the drone of drunken wasps mingled with our moans.

I knew I had no future with a freedom fighter. Right then, I didn’t care. But when the soldiers stood in line and raised their rifles, the shot sent swallows screaming from their roosts. They left me his bloodied body, and his child blossoming in my womb.

🥕🥕🥕

Supports by D. Avery

“It’s an epic occasion,” Lloyd announced as Ernest and Marge wedged themselves into the booth. “Gotta send Ilene off with a hearty breakfast.”

The diner that was in the same half dead shopping plaza as the community school served breakfast 24/7, perfect for commemorating Ilene’s first day of evening classes.
They walked her from the diner to the lackluster painted over storefront that veiled the higher learning within.

“Ok. Thanks. See you around campus.”

“Wait Ilene.” Ernest posed the others then had Ilene take a picture of them standing in front of the community school.

“We’re your colonnades.”

“Epic!”

🥕🥕🥕

The Epitaph of the Reverse Snob by Sascha Darlington

We were supposed to be impressed with his primping, his crisply ironed clothes which all bore logos, his affectation for mentioning who he was wearing if a logo wasn’t in evidence.

Rachel, of course, pitied him. “He’s insecure.”

“He talks all the time. About himself.”

“Exactly.”

I thought he was like the columns on the front of McMansions, all façade. Even in retrospect, I wouldn’t have changed my mind. Rachel’s wealthy now, wearing her own logos and baulked, momentarily, when he wanted columns on the front of their new home.

Me, I’m writing layered material, barely making ends meet.

🥕🥕🥕

Front Porch Sittin’ by H.R.R. Gorman

Master’s shaded
By colonnades.
I pour sweet tea
And lemonade.

But just last night
My mama crept
From field slave house
To where I slept.

“Take this,” she said,
Offering a bag.
Inside was a hex
Cast on heart of stag.

“Hush honeychild,”
My mother cried.
“Crush this heart and
Your daddy’ll die.”

I pour the tea
In nice tall glass.
I think about
What mama asked.

Master sits in
Colonnade’s shade
Beckons me stay
For ‘work’ unpaid.

I squeeze the heart.
From shady spot
My master drops
To Hell so hot.

🥕🥕🥕

Maybe It Won’t Be So Bad by TNKerr

Dario was a cad, a reprobate. He knew when he died because the pain disappeared.

Dead Dario rose, brushed imaginary dust from his shoulders, and looked ahead; there was no behind.

He was on a covered walkway surrounding a garth filled with souls of the suffering damned. Tapered stone columns stood like sentries between him and the wretches. Each column, labelled with a lie, that he recognized as one of his own:

Promises he’d never intended to keep, yet made to women he’d wanted.

Yarns spun to investors whose monies he stole.

🥕🥕🥕

It’s All in the Cards by Colleen M. Chesebro

Tara laid the faery tarot cards carefully on the table. From between the colonnades of the Major and Minor Arcana, the universe cradled her in a divine hug. From the Major Arcana she drew the six – The Lovers, the five – Unity, and from the Minor Arcana, the Six of Summer.

Past, present, and future. Her past spoke of true love, while the present, reminded her to remain true to her principles. Yet, the future hinted at her becoming fast friends.

The cards spoke the truth. What did she have to lose? She tore up the divorce papers and smiled.

🥕🥕🥕

Folded by weejars

It’d been a long day. Kihei, Maui had deceptively more on offer than I’d thought.

I sat my weary self down, noting the lazy colonnades made by benches and umbrellas. Even they had had it – pulled in and folded down for the evening.

I sat swirling my cocktail, hoping it would ease my aching muscles. The sun dipped below the tree line, drawing long shadows on the ground and I’m almost tempted to ask a passing cyclist if I can hitch a ride. The thought of walking up the hill, is overwhelming.

🥕🥕🥕

Bus Stop by Anita Dawes

Outside my living room window stands a bus stop
One afternoon, I counted fourteen people waiting
Watched as a colonnade of human souls were
Swallowed by a red giant
The two o clock journey had begun
Where are they going?
Will their day be a good one?
This I will never know
I will not see their journey back
The return bus stop is further down
The road where I cannot see
I make up my own stories
About the faces standing waiting
The old lady with her green scarf
She is off to see her grandson…

🥕🥕🥕

Colonnades by Gordon Le Pard

It was strange.

He was watching the traffic passing on the bridge, as a cart moving behind the colonnade the spokes of the carts wheel seemed to bend. When a faster carriage followed it, the spokes seemed to bend even more.

The scientific magazine he edited was short of copy that month, he needed a few hundred words, remembering the odd effect of the wheel behind the colonnade he wrote, An Account of an Optical Deception.

A week later Michael Faraday read the article, he was fascinated and began to experiment.

The first steps on the road to Hollywood

***

Author’s Note: In 1821 John Murray made the observation that led to the discovery of Persistence of Vision, the reason that films work.

🥕🥕🥕

Semi-Colonnaddled-Donnie’s Secret Diary by Bill Engleson

Alone at Christmas this year.

I’d never been so alone in my life before.

How sad is that.

The fake newsy floozies expected a pity twitty…er…tweet.

Maybe I mentioned it in passing.

Melania did a bang-up job of decorating the East Wing this year.

Redder than in a Vlad wet dream.

I wonder what he did for Christmas.

I should give him a call.

Was he alone as I was?

Last year, the East Wing was a beaut.

Talk about a White Christmas.

Bing-a-da-boom…

I hate being alone.

Pelosi’s Shutdown has made Washington a morgue.

I think it’s personal.

🥕🥕🥕

A Word From Our Sponsor by Nancy Brady

As a pharmacist, I dealt with all sorts of people with digestive issues. Through the years I counseled people on various problems like indigestion, heartburn, constipation, diarrhea, and other maladies of the gastrointestinal tract. Depending on the problem, remedies were suggested.

Products like Tums and Prilosec for heartburn; products like Ex-Lax and Miralax for constipation, and products like Imodium for diarrhea, Emetrol for nausea and vomiting, and the ubiquitous Pepto-Bismol used for everything.

The newest category is probiotics, which helps restore good bacteria to the gut, specifically the large intestine or colon. Thus, probiotics could be classified as
colon-aids.

🥕🥕🥕

The Problem with Dreaming by Geoff Le Pard

‘What’s that, Logan?’

‘Nothing. You know…’

‘Not unless you tell me.’

‘Someone at work had this thing about designing their dream home and, well, I thought it might be neat…’

‘What’s that?’

‘I thought a sheltered walkway leading to double height doors…’

‘This folly’s in England, right? Bit optimistic, worrying about sunstroke. And you’ll get a rupture opening those. These? They look like columns.’

‘I always fancied having a collonade.’

‘Is it worth that? I’m all for ambition but getting a hernia and buggering up your colon’s a pretty high price to pay for a fancy country pad.’

‘Cretin.’

🥕🥕🥕

Sky to Fly by Reena Saxena

“Don’t look for me, because you won’t find me.”

Dylan almost wanted to put the letter down, and call the police, but then, he stopped to read on.

“Thanks for all the support! You are the colonnade that enveloped my existence, helped me stay afloat, but also separated me from the skies I dream of reaching someday. I’d like to carve my own life.”

Years later, the father and son stand facing each other.

“So, did you find your sky?”

“Yes, and I converted it into solid ground for my son. He’ll need it till he learns to fly.”

🥕🥕🥕

Temple Builders by D. Avery

He found them outside, each with shovels, each pink cheeked, strands of black hair stuck to damp foreheads. “What are you two up to?”

“Come see what Mommy and me made Daddy!”

Hope led him around the mound of plowed snow where the bank dropped away. Once he’d crawled through the entrance tunnel he could almost stand up.

“Is that a skylight?”

“No Daddy, just a vent. Mommy’s gonna build a fire and we’ll cook dinner.”

While his wife and child continued carving out their snug snow house he stacked snowballs and shaped two elegant colonnades at the entryway.

🥕🥕🥕

Demolition Man by Anurag Bakhshi

I looked at my creation again. It was stunning, a virtual masterpiece, as Bird Baths go.

It was a steep downgrade, of course, from the columns of colonnades in my last masterpiece, but…

The owner of the villa inspected the Bird Bath closely now, and said in a mocking tone, “Are you sure this won’t fall down as soon as a bird sits on it?”

I raged silently, but held my tongue. There was little I could say after that crazy monster Hercules had destroyed the pillars of my magnificent, indestructible mansion, along with my reputation as an architect.

🥕🥕🥕

Colonnades by Pete Fanning

Molly and I walk in to the kitchen, where her little sister is drawing at the table. “Hey giant,” she says. “Look at this one.”

I take in the carnage. “Um, wow, this is very…realistic.”

She beams. “Do you notice the legs dangling out of the serpent’s mouth?”

Molly sighs. “Ava, I thought we were going to draw mountains. Beaches. Sunshine. Rainbows.” She tosses a hand. “Something besides death and dismemberment.”

“Look under the collapsed colonnade, you can even see the—”

“Ava.”

I mouth “colonnade” to Molly, who puffs out her cheeks. “Fine, put it on the fridge.”

🥕🥕🥕

Foreseeable Destiny by D. Avery

In the vaulted space beyond the grand colonnades the prophetess grew impatient with the plebeians. How dare they entreat her to wash her hands!

“And where’s your Destiny Doll? Don’t leave Granma’s gift outside.”

The voice of the prophetess rumbled from the temple as if from a deep cave. “Destiny has been swallowed whole by an earthquake. Only a great prophetess can save her.”

“Marlie! Now!”

The prophetess foresaw trouble. The colonnades were reduced to table legs as she scrambled out of the desecrated temple.

Even with her great powers it was ill advised to clash with the Titans.

🥕🥕🥕

The Family Pillar by Teresa Grabs

Davey leaned on the car door and sighed as he looked at the old house. It’s colonnades looked out of place today – still dirty from last week’s storm.

“Never would’ve been like that,” he muttered as he walked up to the porch.

They seemed to groan and weep under his touch as if they knew too. Nothing about this visit was normal. Nothing was the same as last time. The house – the family – was broken. Nana Grace had been the pillar of the family. Now she was gone; the house empty. He hoped the others would filter in soon.

🥕🥕🥕

Standing in Respect by Susan Sleggs

The funeral home parking lot was full of cars which hid the numerous motorcycles stashed in the back corner, but their large American flags flapping in the wind gave them away. I had to go look; The Patriot Guard was in presence. To enter the building I had to pass between the colonnade of men, standing at attention, on duty protecting a fellow veteran, a fellow biker and a friend. The haunted looks in their eyes wasn’t for the current grief, it was from a long ago senseless war. I know, they were my friends too. Damn Viet Nam.

🥕🥕🥕

Waiting by Nobbinmaug

Martha sits on the porch in her rocking chair, looking longingly past the colonnades. She rocks slowly as her fingers do their dance. Her knitting needles swiftly swirl around each other with a faint “swoosh” as they briefly connect. She occasionally glances at her growing creation.

Inside, Tom and Alex peek through the blinds.

“I’m worried about Mom.”

“She’ll be fine. Mom’s strong.”

“It’s been months. She just sits out there every day. Winter’s coming.”

“She’ll stay in when it gets cold.”

“We should call a shrink.”

“She’s mourning. Everybody mourns differently.”

“She’s waiting. She thinks he’s coming home.”

🥕🥕🥕

Colonnade of Condos by Frank Hubeny

Fernando and Pedro walked the boardwalk with a colonnade of condos on their left and the ocean on their right. They stopped at a mural. The artist painted a somber woman with an orange and gold halo walking past an archway.

Fernando remarked, “There comes a time in one’s life when one reaches the age of reason. One only wants the best. And then one wants to give it all away.”

Pedro asked, “And what if we never reach that age?”

In the warm winter winds they admired the mural of that woman.

“Ah! But what if we do?”

🥕🥕🥕

Part II (10-minute read)

Colonnades by FloridaBorne

Desert-beige legs like colonnades framed a thirsty expanse, providing support for a woman torn. As I wandered through life, searching for purpose in 1987, I dreamt of being a geologist, loved learning about rock strata and mining the fossils littering a hillside.

They’d lived in oceans for over 270 million years, far longer than human will litter the Earth, trilobites finding their end inside a mass die-off.

They were swept away together…each death a personal ordeal.

As I loosened one from a stone coffin, I wondered if the creatures replacing us will stop to ask, “Did it feel pain?”

🥕🥕🥕

Journey’s End by D. Avery

Do you see those three balsam fir trees, those green colonnades holding up the sky, making a temple of the earth they stand on?

Do you wonder how they got there?

You might remember three sisters that took from an abandoned suitcase hope and their best dream to sustain them on their journey.

As the three sisters let go of fear and worry and idle wishing they grew strong, resilient, and wise.

You don’t have to believe they became trees. They’ll still hold up the sky, rejoicing as you walk the earth your own way, dreaming your own dream.

🥕🥕🥕

Chester is Not Impressed by Molly Stevens

Chester stomped inside, removed his mittens, and blew on his hands. He barked, “Woman, get me a set of hand warmers!”

Ruth emerged from the kitchen and said, “You look like the abominable snowman!”

“It’s brutal out there, and I’ve still got two hours of shoveling left.”

“Just look at the tunnel of snow from here to the road. Isn’t it grand?”

Chester scowled. “I’m not impressed. Feels like Mother Nature took a two foot dump on me.”

“But don’t you think the snow banks look like colonnades?”

“Only you can take snowmageddon and make colonnades out of it.”

🥕🥕🥕

A Monument to Love by kate @ aroused

As we meandered under the arches, leafy green and cool.
This wondrous oasis near the harbour was a find not many knew

While contentedly wandering with my true love the idea came
I could build a colonnade just like these gracious trunks

A monument to true love, a place for quiet reflection
Such a radical new design came instantly to my mind

Tall grand beauty holding a huge ornate dome roof
A special place for worship for the community to gather

Tile then decorate with large brass hanging lanterns
An outstanding majestic temple for rituals to celebrate our lives!

🥕🥕🥕

Giant Redwoods by Tracey

She put the lawn chair all the way back and stared straight up. It felt scary, a thrill in the pit of her stomach. The trees towered so far above her, swaying at the top with the clouds holding on to keep them from veering too far. She looked at the thick trunks of the redwoods, sure the movement at the top would topple them. How did the trunks stay so straight? She wondered what would happen if a branch came crashing down. Would she be able to move away, or watch mesmerized as the clouds let it go?

🥕🥕🥕

Seeking a Moment of Silence (from Miracle of Ducks) by Charli Mills

Danni nudged Blackjacked and entered the long colonnade of aspen trees. The elk path cut straight through the grove as if it were an engineered road. White bark gleamed like a classical structure. Danni mused that her archeology career never ventured overseas. There was too much history in the West for her to explore. Overhead the leaves fluttered on long stems but held a reverent silence. What could be better than a ride to clear her mind? A sanctuary of nature to ease her anxiety over Ike’s choice to leave. Only here could she ride her horse into church.

🥕🥕🥕

A Colonnade of Aspen Trees by Liz Husebye Hartmann

They must pass through the colonnade of aspen trees as sunrise cuts through at the height of a small Greek woman.

She was that woman, barefoot, in a thin silk shift, a blue bowl of fresh oranges from Thessaloniki in her hands.

So the prophecy said.

She shook her head. Why not a packet of Twinkies in a paper bag, gripped in the paws of a tall man?

“I didn’t write the prophecy, Susan,” Gordon apologized. “That’s just what The Sages told me to do.”

“They told you to record and post this online, right?” she snarled, “Buncha Pervs!”

🥕🥕🥕

The Village Story Teller (Diamante) by Saifun Hassam

From the seashore, flagstones led to the ancient temple. Once, colonnades of colossal sandstone pillars had supported the roof, one colonnade facing the sunrise, the other sunset. The temple was now open to the skies, the pillars wind eroded, but still rising impressively from giant pedestals.

Diamante had taken to sketching the temple and its ever changing patterns of shadows. In the evening, when he lighted the temple fire he sketched the wildly dancing shadows. As evening deepened, owls hooted, children gathered around Diamante, awed and excited, as he wove tales of vast petrified forests and giant flying ships.

🥕🥕🥕

“Asylum of the Obscure” in four parts by JulesPaige

Part 1
The colonnades were not like those built to honor the ancient Greek Gods. I couldn’t tell if they were older or younger. They just were. Rising out of fissure at the end of the long tunnel I was spelunking. Had the others gotten so far ahead that I lost sight of where they were. And I turned off all alone lost in thought to make a discovery that I might not be able to share. While I was prepared for the coolness of the caves, definitely I was not accustomed to breaking out in a cold sweat of worry.

🥕🥕🥕

Part 2
I was alone in an uncharted cavern. The odd colonnades were illuminated by a calming radiance from the center of stone circle. I briefly paused to check my compass and to discover that both it as well as all the other electronics I carried had ceased to function.

Time stood still. Literally, or at least my watch had stopped. There was an odd beauty, a hum of business that I couldn’t quite get a handle on. Like bees always just outside the periphery of my vision. Once I thought that, the faint aroma of sweet honey reached my nose.

🥕🥕🥕

Part 3
Although there were several paths, up and down, I was drawn to one colonnade. I wanted to touch what appeared to be some kind of script. I felt rather like a jackass, having gotten separated from the group. And yet how could I retrace my steps without finding out more?

Forward motion was all I could think about. I placed my hand on an interesting stone and another portal opened into a fantastical garden. Some of the trees tried to lean away from me. One with odd purple fruit seemed to be making me an offer I couldn’t refuse.

🥕🥕🥕

Part 4
I looked back to the colonnade where I had entered. The portal that had opened, was no longer there. The branch containing the purple fruit seemed closer, within easy reach. I was overcome with a strange hunger. If this was going to be my last meal, I might as well enjoy it.

With that first bite, my hunger was sated. While I closed my eyes my mind opened. I was reading, seeing the birth of universes, civilizations and I was given the opportunity to travel beyond the limits of my body. While not pressured, how could I possibly refuse?

🥕🥕🥕

Returning by Joanne Fisher

Something seemed strange when Aalen returned to her village in the heart of the forest. She had been on the borders of their land helping repel an attack from the humans. It was too quiet and Aalen couldn’t see any sentries hiding up in the trees with her sharp eyes. Then Aalen cried out dropping to her knees in despair.

In the centre of the village where there was a natural colonnade formed by a double row of trees were all the villagers hanging from them. All of them dead.

The attack on the borders had been a diversion.

🥕🥕🥕

Colonnades by Trailblazer

Reflecting on memories during the late thirties is like taking a walk through long colonnades. She has felt it a hundred times.

The ranked memories, each alcove created for each event from the childhood, adolescence and the glorious youthful days.
Some nights, when we are all alone, we see a full moon shining through the colonnades; whose solemn look befits all the sweet evocations.
On radiant days, shadowy but warm colonnades remind of the unspoken apprehensions, and agonies we once survived.

Just as the colonnades are magnificent, so are our memori es.
Still, somewhere exist fallen colonnades, the vexed memories.

🥕🥕🥕

Re: Treat by D. Avery

“Here ya are Pal!”

“Shush, Kid, I’m seekin’ a moment a silence.”

“Oh. Like Danni.”

“Yep. Think we’s the same denomination.”

“Yeah, it’s a poplar one.”

“Yer a pain in the aspen Kid.”

“Punny, Pal. Uh, Pal?”

“Yeah Kid?”

“Pal, what’re we s’posed ta do when Shorty’s off east cookin’ bacon at D. Avery’s fire?”

“Same as always Kid.”

“Don’t know why we cain’t go too.”

“Shorty needs us ta look after the stock.”

“The stock on this Ranch kin virtually take care a itself.”

“Yer jist worried about yer pie hole ain’tcha Kid?”

“Shorty’s cookin’ sure’s a treat.”

🥕🥕🥕


14 Comments

  1. Ritu says:

    Another fascinating read!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. calmkate says:

    some fascinating reading all worthwhile but the super powerful ones were the two referring to southern slavery and the Vietnam vet funeral 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

  3. tnkerr says:

    There are a lot of wonderful stories here. I’ve definitely got some favourites, though. Thanks for allowing me to play again this week.
    Gracias

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Nice to see all the others. Nancy Brady’s one made me groan. Good one!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Haven’t read them all YET, but what a great and varied collection. Enjoyed them all so far.

    @Joanne the Geek…thanks; hope it wasn’t too much PUN-ishment! 😉

    Liked by 1 person

  6. susansleggs says:

    It fascinates me that so many stories come from the same prompt. It sure makes me wonder how all our lives differ also. Thanks for the challenge Charli.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Charli Mills says:

      It shows how wonderfully infinite creativity is, and also how connected we can be regardless of differing perspectives. The collection is where I feel most energized each week, seeing all the individual stories coming together.

      Liked by 1 person

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