Lament for a Convent

Two years ago I stumbled on a magnificent place to write - a convent. It was perfect. Quiet and clean, filled with dark hallways and surrounded by protected land, on an island by the St-Lawrence Seaway, great freighters floating by on their journey to Montreal. The rooms were small, with only a single bed, a reading chair, a desk and a sink. The low fee included three meals, buffet style.  And