an old writer and his words

  • REFLECTIONS

    An elk stands at the edgeof a placid mountain lakeand sees only the cloudsof an approaching winter.A black bear leans overthe mirrored surface of the lakeand sees only the fishthat will soon be his repast.The young man drapedin saffron robes lookscalmly into the water and seesa pebble, the spirit of his ancestors.I look carefully into…

    Lou Faber

  • IF IT STICKS

    It is the Italian season in the southeast. This has nothing to do with the country, its food or language. Well a bit to do with food. It is hurricane season here, and when a storm arises, you can be certain most of us begin to scan the web for information, for weather can quickly…

    Lou Faber

  • MARS

    Mars has risen in the western sky. Perhaps it is waiting for the moonto draw our attention,but the moon is periodicallyirascible, as tonight, and haschosen to abandon Marsto the stellar firmament. Mars has risen in the western sky. I wander into the dark in searchof the peace that onlynight affords, but the horizonis war and…

    Lou Faber

  • OF THE SEASONS

    In the heart of winter, then,which seemed unendingI would stare out at the maplesbarren branches piledin ever tottering snowand dream of palm treesand a warm ocean breeze. In heart of winter now,such as it is, all I seeare endless palms andmany Southern Live Oaks,their branches piledunder a heavy burdenof sagging Spanish Mossand I dream of…

    Lou Faber

  • APPROACHING AUTUMN

    This is the seasonwhen the maplesbegan their rainof colored tears. It may still be so,but not here,and the palmsknow no seasons. Once there wasa veil of lilac,bushes trying tooutdo the others. But at leastthe magnolias carenothing for distanceoffering their beauty here and where wenow have onlymemories of the ebband flow of seasons.

    Lou Faber

  • RETURNING

    The Great Egrets swoop low,make a slow banking turnand alight in the leafless tree. They sit imagining water,the wetland they knewa month or so ago, nowmore a mud flat all waitingfor the rainy season’s arrival. They leave as night approaches,the once wetland suddenlyagain silent, and we areleft to dream of the flocksof ibis, herons and…

    Lou Faber

  • DEAR ERASMUS, DIE

    Today we welcome the rain, hopethat the wheaty winter lawn willshow some other color under its care. The birds ignore the clouds,accept the rain, care little howour lawn looks, their next mealof always greater importance. I am losing the vision in one eye,know I may soon be kingof the country of the blind,and sadly curse…

    Lou Faber

  • JANUARY

    It is an odd feeling, in the middleof January, to no longer considerbecoming a bear, choosingto hibernate until Spring arrivesdemanding an awakening. I did that for years, nevergrew the heavy fur coat neededand wasn’t much for digging densin the snow, so I sat insideand dreamed of bearishness. Living now among the birdswhere we shiver when…

    Lou Faber

  • THEN, NOW

    It was easier then, so let’sgo there, the spring of 1970,the location is less important,so long as it’s a coffee housewhere those barely old enoughto drink, or barely short of thatage congregate, waiting forsomething to happen or, Iseriously hoped, someone,someone with little hair, butwho carried James Joyce inhis jeans pocket, Portrait ofthe Artist the only…

    Lou Faber

  • SNOW

    At first it was just oddto think of snow as merelya concept, a memory softer,more pleasant than its reality. You can grow accustomedto concepts, they are generallysomewhat neat and tidy, easilyfiled and brought forth on demand. The concept of snow hasits great advantages, snowmenof perfect shape, never meltingand no one must shovel a concept. But…

    Lou Faber