an old writer and his words

  • ODE TO PATIENCE

    The jetty is replete todaywith tourists, pale as the sunbleached concrete, stoppingto gawk at the fishermenwho ignore them intenton watching the sadly still line. The pelicans sit on the rocksgrooming and posing, talkingloudly on occasion beforespreading wings and flying off.Out on the jetty a pelican waitspatiently for the fishermanto pack up for the day, knowinghe…

    Lou Faber

  • GET A ROOM

    You feel like a voyeur, staringas the red-shouldered hawksmate in a tree mere yardsfrom where you are standing. Still, you cannot take your eyesaway from them, your cameratightly focussed, an avianpornographer perhaps, or maybe just a lucky soul given the chanceto witness a ritual denied to most,and you know with luck their offspringwill repeat the…

    Lou Faber

  • POP-UP BUFFET

    The cranes walk togetheras a pair, announcingthemselves loudly,strolling across the lawnheaded for the one yardwhere the sod has beentorn out to allow regrading. The equipment has pausedand they take thisas an invitation, stoppingfor a large mealat the new buffet,certain that thiswas done just for themand perhaps a few ibis,should they happen along. Tomorrow this will…

    Lou Faber

  • STARS

    Once the winter starswrapped in their cloudy shroudshed frozen tears, unwillingto come out of hiding.We searched for them in vain,knowing our failure,retreating to the warmthof home, only to repeatthe failed effort on somany other nights. Now, here, the winter starsare usually fearless,some drowned by the moon,but she waxes and wanesand they reappear, the brightestnever fearing…

    Lou Faber

  • OR CUT BAIT

    They sit or stand patientlyon the jetty, a concrete pathjutting out into the ocean. The old timers have twolines out, bait bucketsitting in the bicycle-wheeledcart parked on the edgeof the jetty’s bouldered margin. You don’t ask what they’vecaught, that would be obvious,and you know they are here forthe act of fishing, and the catchis that…

    Lou Faber

  • ROBBIE

    He left and we never saw the departure coming. We knew he would leave sooner or later, but not now. We had planned on his visit. We knew he meant he was coming. We knew he might just show up. He traveled on snap decisions. It might be here, it might be Paris or Italy.…

    Lou Faber

  • CITY OF DREAMS

    I live in city thatisn’t a city at all,despite what it callsitself. It is a suburbof suburbs, whichin Florida can passfor a city. The birds ignorethe gates and wallsand come and gofreely. We live insidethe gates and wallsand remember livingin a real city.

    Lou Faber

  • SITTING WATCHING

    Of course when we livedup north we wouldn’thave imagined this, sittingon our lanai watching the sunset the patchy sky ablazesipping small glasses of portand wondering if a lightjacket might be in order,as the beaver moonof November waxes slowly. The cat, curled at our feetcannot imagine the icy windhowling down the street,the foreboding clouds offeringtheir first…

    Lou Faber

  • CLOSE ENOUGH TO HEAR

    We sit around the small tablesglad to be out of the sunwhose midday glare seemsto blind the drivers slowlyapproaching the Jetty Park lot. A family chatters, the childrenlaughing at nothing, at everything,and nearby a dog lays outdreaming of a good walkand dinner, hoping for scraps. We can hear the waterof the inlet, the waves breakingonto…

    Lou Faber

  • WINTER?

    In the early morning, beforeI open the blinds, beforethe sun approaches rising,I imagine the chill envelopingeverything outside, Octoberslipping quickly towardNovember, to the possibilityof rolling snake eyes, to snow. Winter always came that way,unannounced, and at leastby me, unwelcomed, thelast of the crimson, flameorange and ochre leavesdragged to the earthand buried ignominiously. But I know when…

    Lou Faber