an old writer and his words

  • A PAUSE

    They ride the tides ashoreby the thousands and tens of thousandsnesting lightly on the waiting sand.We stroll the beach struggling for a footingfor which they have no need,stopping frequently to pick one up,look at it carefully and if it passesour completely arbitrary test,pocket it for display at home.We watch the gulls, pelicansand osprey ride the…

    Lou Faber

  • NIGHT AGAIN

    It is well past midnight and outsidethe birds and frogs in the wetlandannounce the rain, unnecessary really,as it beats a steady rhythm on the roofand windows, pierced onlyby claps of thunder and the lightningwhich gives them short announcement.The light dances through the closedwindow blinds on what ought to bean ink black night, and I knowthe…

    Lou Faber

  • YOU AGAIN?

    On the path around the pondthe male of a pair of Sandhill Cranesstares closely at us wondering, perhaps,which if any of us actually belongs here.We more than return his stare, fumblingfor our cameras that claim they are phones,wanting to capture this moment.The crane proudly approaches, getsinches from the arm-extended phone. Is hetrying to see what…

    Lou Faber

  • IF ONLY

    Were we birds we wouldhave our talons dug so deeplyinto the soil, our wings unableto lift us into a waiting skyfrom our gravitation prison.The egrets peer down at usfrom a thousand hued blue skycloudless again this dayas a maleficent sun glaresdown on us as we slowlybake in the oven we createdby our malfeasant stewardshipof nature’s…

    Lou Faber

  • FOUR HAIKU

    At night’s marginsdreams may ferry you acrossrivers of doubt Paper boatsfloat slowly down riversof deep felt hopes Paper lanternsslowly carry awayancestral spirits A thousand craneslift into a scarlet skyand chase the sun

    Lou Faber

  • GOOD MORNING

    The wetland isno longer wet a burgeoning forest of Carolina WillowThe birds that nested hereby the multiple dozens that overnighted by the thousands have moved on.But each morning I arise to the call of the Limpkin the closest thing we have to a rooster.

    Lou Faber

  • BEAUTY

    The rose no more knowsits own beautythan the chrysanthemumdoes its scent.The birds will carry the seeds,the bees will pollinate the flowersbut it is left to usto recognize the abject beautynature willingly unfoldsbefore us, it is ourEden, small momentsof perfection which weso often ignore, which weunthinkingly lay waste to,and we who must learnto mourn what we…

    Lou Faber

  • I QUIT

    Nature joined me uninvited this morningas I sat on the lanai overlooking whatonce was a bird filled wetland, now grownover with Carolina willow andthe too frequent Brazilian Cherry.“The birds have given up on you,”I thought I heard nature say, “I supposeyou miss them?”. “Terribly,” I said“for they were a part of me that hasnow withered…

    Lou Faber

  • SENBAZURU

    For a reason I can no longer recallI began folding origami craneswith the intention of completinga senbazuru, 1000 cranes strungto hang somewhere although I knowI had no idea then where that might be.It was after reading how a youngJapanese girl folded 1000 cranes,in a hope for peace after Hiroshimawas devastated by our new bomb.I did…

    Lou Faber

  • LOOKOUT

    The osprey sits atopthe light pole on the streetalongside the small lake.His morning songis enchanting, but as weapproach, he pauses itand stares down.Is he staring at the lakeseeing the motionof a fish soon to becomehis next meal?That would makesense, but he seemsinstead to be staringat me as I walk byand I have to wonderif he…

    Lou Faber