an old writer and his words

  • PUEBLO CHRISTMAS

    The night is that bitter coldthat slices easily throughnylon and Polartec, makeschild’s play of fleece and denim.The small rooms glowin the dim radiance of propane lightsand heaters as the silveris carefully packed awayin plastic tool boxes.The pinyon wood is neatly stackedin forty pyres, some little tallerthan the white childrenclinging to their parents’ legs,some reaching twenty-five…

    Lou Faber

  • IF ONLY

    As I have aged, I hopeI have gotten smarteror at least more ableto adapt to life’s issues. But there are still areaswhere knowledge fails,where you cannot hopeto attain what you want. World peace is one such,honest politicians another,and the list could go onbut you get the picture. The ultimate failure howeveris imagining that you can…

    Lou Faber

  • GOD HAS COME, OR NOT

    It is the wet season when the rains wash the village carrying off the detritus of poverty. On the adobe wall of the ancient town hall some villagers say a face appeared one morning. To some it was the face of Christ to others that of an old man a former mayor, perhaps, to most…

    Lou Faber

  • AMONG ELDERS

    I sit outside, on the mesa having watched the mauve, fuchsia and coral sky finally concede to night. The two orange orbs sit twenty yards away, staring back and in this moment coyote and I have known each other for moments, and for generations, and we are content. Coyote tells me he was once an…

    Lou Faber