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

  • End of a Drought

    For about thirty days there was no rain in the Muskoka area.  “great summer”” good boating weather!” ” good for haying” and then a little concern “for the farmers”, more frequent watering of flowers and veggies, some uneasiness, more attention to the weather forecast, grumbling about the ban on bonfires.  As the hot and brilliant…

  • Playing Cards

      I don’t.  I have no knack for remembering what has already been played.  My past partners have gawked at my beginner’s luck or tutted in annoyance at my carelessness, stupidity and lack of competitive spirit.  I have trouble remembering the rules of various games and when they tell me there are two types of…

  • Culture in the Country

        Even in the wilds of farm country, there are surprises.  Here is a little library which contained some Archie comics, Jackie Collins and….Girl on a Train.  And here is classical statuary leading to the barn.  Without the barn, without hay, without cows….no books or statues.  Remember…..

  • Pictures for Irrigation dyke

    wordpress annoyed me so much that I had to print the pictures apart

  • Drainage Dyke

        Suthern Ontario is superb farming country.  I am staying a little North of the farm belt just on the Canadian Shield.  There are still large swaths of farmland too.  I got something of an object lesson in how land is claimed from nature.  It is all very well for me to rapturize about…

  • Treasure at the Side of the Road

        Walking today through a shady trail and then along  the side of a country road to return home I was struck by the variety and beauty of what was growing in the strip between the asphalt and the ditch.  Cornflowers blue and white daisies, a tiny sort of snapdragon of acid yellow and…

  • A Church

      Going to church is a strange thing when you consider it. What makes it holy, special, the sort of place that brings me to the spirit world?  This morning I gave a tour at the Museum of the Tiffany windows in the concert hall.  That used to be a church but it was ”…

  • At the Heart of Things

      That searching for the heart of things. What does it mean, after all and where does it spring from? And what is it, exactly, or even vaguely? Too perplexing or taxing to examine?  Too frightening? Well, there’s always shopping or cleaning the house. Important things to tick tick the clock – like a career…

  • Garden Angels

      Guardian angels?  This is Blackie, whom I have known from a kitten.  I know him by his crooked tail, stumpy and blunt.  He is a feral cat who has lived down our jungly lane for about four years.  I used to have quite a following among the strays around here.  Ah, I put out…

  • Imperfection and Persistence

      With the generosity of nature, my pink rose bush is putting forth new buds every day.  It doesn’t hold back, doesn’t judge if the weather is too hot or too cold. Doesn’t sulk if petals fall in drifts as soon as a sweet smelling bloom has matured.  This flower caught my eye because a…