an old writer and his words

  • ISN’T IT A PITY

    birdsdo not knowor acceptboundaries demandfreedom to fly whereand when they will they acknowledgehereand therelook downon peoplesadly, knowinggravity is our prison and we draw linesto keepothers outourselves inour space private birds haveinfinite spaceand freedomand pityfor us

    Lou Faber

  • CHANGES

    The finches are strugglingthis morning, searching the lawnfor the odd clover seed that’s yet to be reduced to dust by a summerwhere the rain has paintedour world with a palette of parchment, ochre, leaving uswandering an increasingly sepia world.  We know that the rains will come again, that nature’s green will return, however briefly, beforewinter encases us all in…

    Lou Faber

  • ABIDING NATURE

    The abiding Buddha natureof birds is demonstratedby their calm ability to carryon conversations in the presenceof interacting humans, whoare too often deaf to the soundsin which nature immerses them. But when we speak to the birdsin a crude facsimile of theirnative chirp, caw and trill,they pause to listen, strainto understand us, wishingonly to let us…

    Lou Faber

  • NIGHT APPROACHES

    The clouds this eveningare the deep gray that so longto be black, but the retreatedsun just below the horizonlingers long enough to deny them. The space, shrinking, betweenthe clouds, is the gray of promisethat the night will soon deny,and the birds who take overthe preserve, chant their vespers,each in his or her own language,uncommon tongues…

    Lou Faber

  • FOOTHILLS

    The clouds well upover the foothillscasting a gray pall,bearing the angry spiritsof the chindi who danceamid the scrub juniper.Brother Serra, was thiswhat you found, wanderingalong the coast, tendingthe odd sheep, Indianand whatever elsecrossed your path? The blue birdhopping across the dried grassespuffing its grey breastplate and capesitting back, its long tail feathersa perfect counterbalance.It stares…

    Lou Faber

  • ETA

    So many of the late arrivals tonightare egrets, the Cattles long inamong the reeds and brush sharingspace, only reluctantly, with the ibis. It is their snowy cousins who arriveas the horizon is a fading bandof orange gold dissipating under thefaint, unyielding eye of Venus,and seem shocked when theyare turned away with flap of wingand cry,…

    Lou Faber

  • NIGHTLY PRAYERS

    My mother always told me to saymy prayers before bed, which was oddgiven that she never prayed, and didn’tas far as we could tell, believe in a deity. I knew, as my Rabbi taught, that you do notseek something for yourself in prayer,and world peace and harmony did notseem on the horizon despite my entreaties.…

    Lou Faber

  • HEART OF DHARMA

    A single snowy egret sitson the lowest branch of a longbarren tree, where hours from nowa thousand birds will arrivefor still another evening and night. He stares at me as I am mindfullyvacuuming, watching carefully. I pause and ask if by chance heis a Buddha and he lifts his long neckand peers around in all…

    Lou Faber

  • HOLY

    The sun slowly climbsup onto the mountain’s minaretand announces the call to prayer.The waves in the quiet Lakedip their heads watching treeswith the reverence reserved for morning.The loon sits on the altarand intones the sermon, the wavesstilling for a moment, then ebbing into the day.

    Lou Faber

  • EVEN HERE

    As winter closes in around us,even here, the Great Blue Heronsgo about building a nest,inviting us to watch as theymake a home of gatheredbranches and twigs, obliviousto the state of our world,of the pandemic gripping us. We watch respectfully, knowingthat in this darkest of seasons,we are about to witnessour own little miracle and willsoon bear…

    Lou Faber