an old writer and his words

  • THE VISITOR

    Autumn dropped by this morning, a wholly unwelcome visitor, and although her visit was short, it was a foreboding for which we were not yet ready, not that we ever are. The gulls along the river discussed this at length, and even the two Red Tailed Hawks high overhead, swooped in agreement. We simply turned…

    Lou Faber

  • GULL TIME

    Along the river this morning, the gulls stood on fence stanchions watching the parade of walkers, runners, bikers like them ignoring the river, intent on logging the daily miles, oblivious to the panorama that lies just beyond our closely focussed eyes. The gulls offer a piercing commentary, and that is something we notice, and so…

    Lou Faber

  • UNKO SENDS CLOTHES 鐵笛倒吹 七十八

    If I receive warm under robes to ease my winter meditation I will refuse them. If you ask me why, I will say I was born with such robes as I need. If you ask what I wore before birth I shall remain silent. In the deepest winter there is no chill that can reach…

    Lou Faber

  • APPROACHING WINTER

    We are in the season of stasis where nothing wants to move and nothing should shed the mantle of snow that has announced winter’s arrival in terms we full understand, as do the finches clinging to the feeder casting nervous glances skyward. The neighbor’s cat has decided that the remote chance of catching a bird…

    Lou Faber

  • ALOFT

    As a child I often flew kites, which is to say that I ran haphazardly pulling a string and dragging a wood frames paper rhombus across the park. My father laughed until seeing me on the edge of tears he took up the string and dragged the kite across the park. One day a strong…

    Lou Faber

  • APPROACHING WINTER

    The temperature falls, slowly at first but gaining speed, as though in the grip of winter’s gravity. Winter has the potential to be a black hole season into which we enter and imagine we will never reemerge into spring. The wind whispers stories to us of a time when this was all ice when no…

    Lou Faber

  • ADIRONDACK EVENING

    Atop the hill the trees are filigree against the fading light. The tents are fireflies twinkling as night reclaims the earth. I am caught up in the chill watching my breath kiss the stars. First Appeared in Blueline, Vol. 22, 2001.  Reprinted in Legal Studies Forum, Vol. 29, No. 1, 2005

    Lou Faber

  • DAWN, AUGUST

    They cut neat incisions across the slate blue sky. The wounds they leave slowly peel back the white edges slowly spreading until the sky hemorrhages its cloud-like streaks. The oak drops yet another acorn and the squirrel scampers to gather it in before the sky flees under its gray-white blanket.

    Lou Faber

  • SOLSTICE

    I haven’t the time to stop and measure the day to insure that it is as short as promised, that the sun which will refuse to appear would minimize its visit if it did. That is a task I leave willingly to others. I increasingly operate on faith, that I will wake tomorrow, that tomorrow…

    Lou Faber

  • 17/3

    Blue heron takes flight giant wings stir wispy clouds April emerges. December garden faceless Buddha loudly laughs wriggling toes in snow. Bang the drum loudly kasha awaits the silence a winter tempest

    Lou Faber