an old writer and his words

  • SETTLING

    The old, weathered maple leans into the sun, its trunk stroking the cobbled cottage which sits against the foothill. The square window peers out over a wildflower garden as the roof’s peakline settles comfortably into old age. Walking around it I see the back roof has collapsed the back wall ever threatening to return to…

    Lou Faber

  • BIG ISLAND

    It is his hands you notice first – dark fingers bent and gnarled, several banded in silver, knuckles scratched by the cat curled at his feet, the tip of his index finger sacrificed to a distraction and the saw, untrimmed nails, rough, ragged a torn cuticle, liver spot rubbed raw. The fingers curl gently around the…

    Lou Faber

  • LUNA REFLECTS

    Tonight the moon will gnaw away at the stars, consuming them much as the beaver consumes trees to build a proper home. We will stare at the moon, marvel at its size, at its brightness, wonder why we never noticed it like this before, realize it is because we are so young, that our memory…

    Lou Faber