an old writer and his words

  • SEDOKA

    The stream slows its flowpast the park bench, now unusedawaiting the first snowflakes. The trout swims downstream for the lake, where the water gently yields its fading warmth. First Published in Fireflies Light, Issue 30, October 2024 (Missouri Baptist University)https://www.mobap.edu/about-mbu/publications/fireflies-light/

    Lou Faber

  • SHE WILL ARRIVE

    In this place and timeof year our hauntings comefrom the sea, she that usuallybewitches us can turn angryand unleash her spite and spittle,and she will not be sateduntil we all concede our impotence.She cares nothing for doors,goes through one and all thatimagine they stand in her way.We know she will come, not when,and in the…

    Lou Faber

  • LABORING

    There are those few momentswhen they sit on the bermaround the Igloo jug trying to findthe shade from a spindly palm cut backto almost nothing, the sunetching the sky with a molten heatthat melts away the few cloudsfoolish enough to appear.One keeps an eye outfor the supervisor knowinglunch is hours off and there areno breaks…

    Lou Faber

  • UNSHOVELING

    There is much to love here,not the least of which is the lackof snow always needing to be shoveledwhen your back is most sore,when you need to be somewhereon a schedule the clouds chose to ignore.But the one thing you cannot find,the thing you never expectedto be that which you most missis the polychromatic season.For…

    Lou Faber

  • ALMOST, NOT QUITE

    The rains finally came the other day,not the tropical storms that this seasonpromises, those will come laterwe are assured by the weathermenwho sometimes struggle to describewhat is happening outside their windows.It was the sort of rain we had almostforgotten during our tropical droughtwhich, yes, does seem like a contradictionin terms until you look at the…

    Lou Faber

  • NOAA’S ARK

    The rain finally fell today, a delugeworthy of Noah but NOAA assures usthis is only a three day storm and the nextthirty-seven will not mirror it, at leastnot fully they think they believe.The weather here, the outer skinof nature, is too often a petulant childforever not satisfied with how things are,wanting things different, wantingmore, wanting…

    Lou Faber

  • I PLAY THE FOOL

    On more than one occasion she had characterized him as a loveable fool fit for a Shakespearean comedy. Of course when she said this he bristled. That was the required response to the characterization, else he willingly adopt the role in perpetuity. But deep within himself he knew there was more truth than perhaps even…

    Lou Faber

  • ALL TOO SOON

    We know it is a matter of timebefore the rains will come,the hurricanes will wailand inundate our world.We have planned for thisand we know we are not ready.We will be overwhelmedas we are each time, homeslost to floods that risefrom an angry ocean tiredof not being heeded.We will bail, pump and mop,wage a losing battleagainst…

    Lou Faber

  • IN BAKERSFIELD

    In Bakersfield they don’t give a damn about hurricanes, he realized. They might watch them on the news, be amazed at the force of the wind, the water, the destruction they could cause, but they were abstract, like blizzards now were to him, a curiosity of nature but having no bearing on his day to…

    Lou Faber

  • WAITING SEASON

    He had been standing there for hoursstaring into the heavens, the cloudsa foreboding shroud promising regeneration,promising rain, promising redemption.He said to the heavens, “I loved you once,”and an ominous wind replied, “youloved yourself, nothing else mattered.”He wanted to argue but the wind, too,abandoned him and the smell of lightninghe could not yet see assaulted him.He…

    Lou Faber