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

  • A CAPPING VERSE

    Snow always seemed so rightcapping the summit of Fujiyama,not dulled by the windowsof the Shinkansen to Osaka. You barely noticed the rice fieldsfanning out from its basewanted to reach out and touch itfor that is what you do with icons. Mount Hood had the same effectbut the chill along the Willametteurged you to retreat quickly…

    Lou Faber

  • MELODY

    The melody arose from the most unexpected place.They heard it deep within the woodsand even the birds fell silentpeering around, searchingfor its unrevealed source.It carried on for several versesand then, as quickly as it cameit was gone, the final notecarried off by a spring wind.No one entered, no one leftthe woods that dayand though many…

    Lou Faber

  • EXTINCTION

    My granddaughter is intenselyconcerned with the growing lossof species, and rightly so, and Ishare her fears, though I feellargely powerless to do anything. She has the faith of youth, a beliefthat she and her peers can,with work, effect a lasting change,climb up the slippery slope whichwe have cast them down, and saveother species from a…

    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

  • 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

  • WINTER

    As I stare out the window and watchthe snow slowly build on the limbsof the now barren crab apple, paintingit with a whiteness that bears heavily,giving the smaller branches a betterview of the ground in which theirfruit of the summer lies buried. I am forced to wonder if the treecontinues to watch me, if its…

    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