isobelmtl
Writing under a Montreal sky
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Author: isobel cunningham
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The little leaf casings are sticky. The still folded leaves are as soft and smooth as velvet. The grass is green thanks to recent rain but the rushes beside the pond are still last-year’s pale straw. Only they remember the first hard frosts of last fall, the dark clear nights when only the stars circled…
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My kind grandchildren helped me make these for yet another year. Fragile and beautiful yet resilient and precious like their creators. How lucky I am that they still like to indulge me and come to my house to color these symbols of new life, of Spring and hope. Later this evening my whole family who…
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He was a little scary I admit as he silently performed his acrobatics on the bars of the almost … but not quite empty Metro cars. He was carrying a backpack( not shown in his posed picture here) which at one point threw him off balance. He landed in a bit of a heap and…
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Look totally flat from the top? Yesterday I finally got going and pumped up this hill a couple of times. It is a toboggan hill steep enough to require a couple of visits from the ambulance at least once every winter as teens whizz down and smash into each other. It feels so good to…
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Only today did I hear that wonderful cry of geese flying overhead. And then walking through the park on my way come from the tax man- another sign of Spring- there were these two. Don’t get me wrong, these birds are no favorites of mine . They foul the paths of my neighborhood park. They…
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Although it is not warm, the sun’s rays are strong enough to melt the snow. The texture of the snow has changed too. No more fluffy deep snow or treacherous plaques of ice covered with a faint dusting. No more crunchy steps, my crampons gripping the pure surface. Now the structure under my feet is…
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What does it mean to be alive? To be alive as a human being, as a bird or animal, as water, as a plant or a cloud? It has been a hard winter. In the dark, cold days and nights of February I sometimes descended to an even darker place. These days the ducks in…
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“Oh, I was at the symphony concert last night… with my grandson! “ Is there a grandmother anywhere who wouldn’t be overjoyed to just casually drop this into conversation. How lovely it was to take my place next to my oldest grandchild who is now almost eighteen. Is it possible? Oh, and he’s the one…
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Many many thanks to my dear friend Masha Schmemann Tkachuk for putting this together. Shutterfly has a great service which allows smart people like her to create actual books from photos and text. As you can see Masha did a great editing job . The material was taken from last fall’s blog posts that chronicled…
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Gone, water under the bridge they say as if the event, the person, the feeling is disposed of. But it’s not gone just gone somewhere else. Not disappeared, not effaced, that water just flows away to a river, to the sea, to a new form. It will turn into a cloud and fall, fall somewhere…
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