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.

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  • Exciting things today

      This is written in the Bourgie concert hall and I will have to run out and feed the meter soon. I was gardening today as you see. The roses survived and are sprouting pink shoots. One rose bush is very old and I must take the saw to it. Reminds me of the Secret…

  • I’ll keep you posted

          As you see,my tulips are really really trying.  We are due two days of sun as of tomorrow, so who knows?  Today I attended the semi annual luncheon of the Association of Volunteer Guides at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts.  I wore “the suit”.  I never wear suits and it seems…

  • Before and after

          Because I contributed to the Easter flower fund at church, I got to take a potted plant home today.  I had already bagged a jasmine because I love that plant.  How modern horticulture can produce a jasmine that has no scent is beyond me but somehow they have managed it.  In my…

  • Just in under the wire

            I promised one post one post a day for 40days -promised to myself as much as to my readers.  Unfortunately today I had something on my mind that worried me and prevented me from conjuring up anything very inspiring.  Some good things happened to me on this day, I must admit.…

  • I promised you sky

        Nothing more, not clear or bright sky Surely it is enough just to be sky. The wonder clouds full of moisture from the dear earth, Never the same, never quite the same From the days of dinosaurs, the days of Neanderthals from the Middle Ages, from yesterday.  Always changing and always miraculous.  Day…

  • At Last

        Such a little space, after all. Such a narrow city yard and yet Blessed with the scent of daffodils.  Rave about the scent of roses, or of lilac. But that smell of sap, rain, green Spring essence is the most precious of all. Without this golden key the treasure of sun, warmth, summer…

  • Rain drops rap

        Ah, poetic raindrops that have been the inspiration of so many songs of love plunged in desperation They’re the subject of hope and admiration In parched lands long wracked by devastation. Their music holds us captive in facination and we wander lost in thought, in isolation. Until we wonder if our love of…

  • A mysterious engraving

    Well the internet is up and running again after some very frustrating days.  I had long conversations with people in various parts of the globe (one told me it was 42 degrees where she lived).  That made our 8 degrees seem very miserable.  I’m not much of a lover of heat but I sure could…

  • From the library

            This will will be quick as my internet is down at home and the service at the library is a bit erratic.  I keep falling off the internet.  I have spent many tiresome hours talking to bell techs all over the world to no avail.  A real like tech will come…

  • Flash Fiction

    Flash fiction is really short storytelling.  So, here’s something under 300 words.. It’s called Tick tock       Tick tock – the loud wall clock.  Only ten minutes to catch the bus.  He’s still asleep.  Dog still asleep too.  Tiptoe, quiet now.  Unhook the key beside the door.  The sliding closet door makes a…