isobelmtl

Writing under a Montreal sky

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about

Isobel Cunningham has published short fiction and poetry. Her book, Northern Compass is available on Amazon. She was born in Wales but Montreal is her adopted home. She speaks French, Modern Greek ( it’s a fun story) and a little Spanish…oh, English too, of course. She welcomes comments on her blog and looks forward to chatting with you over cyber-space.

Author: isobel cunningham

  • Conventional Wisdom

      Sparrows are boring little insignificant birds.  How much more exciting to see blue jays, cardinals, finches.  And yet, there was something exciting about seeing a flock of city sparrows, noisy and vulgar, settling in a little lilac bush in my back yard.  They approached cautiously, flying into the twigs and branches of a vine…

  • Music in the Subway

      In the glorified tunnel that moves thousands of people around the city every day, a few souls bring their instruments and play.  Over the wave of sound that never crests come notes of music.  The silvery sounds of a South American harp cut through the trudging footsteps of workers, students, shoppers.  The musician’s dark…

  • A day in the City

    The city is full of straight lines that tells us where to walk.  It is full of people, crowds passing through the Metro turnstiles, waiting obediently at the sharp intersection corners.  Red light, green light, a homeless person sleeps beside his paper cup and a sign that reads ” kindness is not a weakness”.  A…

  • Specific

    The dilemma of the writer is to find the specific word that will properly portray his or her idea, her image, her concept.  I remember a wise teacher responding to a student in a class I attended. The student said,” I know the answer but I don’t know how to express it in words.”  The…

  • Float

    Float down from silent trees white bouquets of snow. In the still air of early winter bare twigs and branches are outlined with layered fine snow.  Like icing sugar or impossibly fine sand a spotless mantle sits contrasting with the dark, sleeping, Winter wood. Last night in the silent darkness, one by one in their…

  • Temptation

    Who can resist?  There’s more than the delicious taste of the taste of sugar,  butter eggs, and vanilla on those beaters.  Who was the one who let us lick the spoon as she made cakes?  My memory of my mother making cakes is of her sitting close to the fire so the butter would be…

  • Crossing

    Here are some turkeys crossing the farmer’s field.  His dairy cows are safe in the barn, their mild eyes turning to the door, their coats steaming in their winter home.  The turkeys are wild and although they stalk around the properties around here, they are skittish of people or dogs.  I even saw them take…

  • Gone

    To my bewildered friends who will read  these posts on Facebook, I am following the “daily posts” of WordPress.  They choose the topics and I have to write to topic.  I missed yesterday because the Internet connection in this neck of the woods is sometimes ” gone” Goodbye beauty, goodbye youth, Goodbye lovers, suave and…

  • Year

    First year, last year. Future year, past year. Year of grace, year of war. Twelve months, seasons four. Count the days, count the hours. Work like a dog or go pick flowers. Fresh and clean on New Year’s Day, time races by and it’s all one-way. Take this gift of a brand new year, toast…

  • Hopeful

      It’s New Year’s Eve and I’m on a long-distance bus from Montreal to Toronto. Our bus just passed the salt truck so I’m hopeful there’s another one close ahead.  There’s some sort of ice mist, freezing rain, sloppy snow, general grimy Eastern Canada winter weather making the driver earn his money up front.  This…