an old writer and his words

  • THICKNESS OF DAY

    The clouds are thick today, each merging into the next like an ill-woven blanket, stitches dropped, but still not admitting light. None assumes familiar shapes, none require more than a passing glance, though none promise much-needed rain. Today clouds simply cast a pall and we are left to bear their omnipresent reluctance to be of…

    Lou Faber

  • MIRRORED

    It isn’t the seeing of something that matters, for what is seen was there to be seen so seeing is just its natural consequence. It is only when you label it, give it a name that it ceases to exist, for you at least, for at that moment what exists is the label and no…

    Lou Faber

  • NIGHTHOUGHTS

    like a house of cards it folds slowly inward, falling on itself, sliding downward until all that is left is the memory of what was supposed to be and a dream standing in isolation

    Lou Faber

  • STAR WALKER

    His brother said that if you left the windows open at night, the ghosts would come in and might steal your soul. He didn’t care, he wanted to hear the song the stars sang every night, to see them come down and move in pairs across the mesa, for stars, he knew turned orange when…

    Lou Faber

  • SLOW TIME

    Time slows inexorably with the approach of sleep, the other world prepared for arrival as the awakened world falls away into ashes. Some say it is all dreams, but they have their own reality until they, too, retreat in the face of the great rising Bird that precedes the morning sun.

    Lou Faber

  • EVOLUTION

      We arose from water, crawled forth and inhabited the land and claimed dominion and the land appeared to cede itself to us, knowing better and caring even less. We return to the water feel its pull but immerse ourselves only partially, willing to risk only half drowning, the land and air usually silent, knowingly…

    Lou Faber

  • LISTEN UP, ABRAHAM

    A commentary on a holy book suggested snakes cannot hear one another. Perhaps their deafness goes beyond family and species. It would do much to explain God’s rejection of Eve’s proffered excuse that despite her protestations and those of Adam the snake would not take no for an answer – a deaf snake, after all…

    Lou Faber

  • REMEMBERED

    She said she recalled the spilled glass of wine that stained her white linen blouse. She said the city swallows people like a hungry beast that will never be sated. I taste the summer sun and the sweetness of an early rain in the Shiraz that foretells approaching winter. The city is a cat that…

    Lou Faber

  • BEING

    “Be in the moment,” he says repeatedly, imagining this is what the teacher should say. I want to tell him there is no other possible moment I could be in, but having to try to find the words instantly takes me out of this and every other possible moment. It is said that when the…

    Lou Faber

  • ALONG THE MIDDLE WAY

    Each day he stops briefly in the small park along the path, and picks up a pebble which he tucks in the coin pocket of his jeans. There it rests until he comes the pond where he sits on the shore staring out into the heart of the water. He pulls the pebble and tosses…

    Lou Faber