an old writer and his words

  • STONE

    Off the pier in Santa Barbara a young child throws a stone into the quiet ocean. Later an imperceptible wave slips quietly into Yokohama harbor. In Big Sur a Monarch butterfly slips from her chrysalis on tentative gossamer wings and takes flight. Later, still,  I stand on the Boston Commons and cast a momentary smile.

    Lou Faber

  • DARLING’S MANTRAS

    You are two and you laugh for everything is funny or can be, if you just tilt your head a certain way or wag a finger at it. The cat watches from behind the sofa with a knowing gaze. For you food is as much a toy as words are food and you cannot imagine…

    Lou Faber

  • FINDING TEACHER

    He had been searching for . . . well it was impossible to say for how long, even he could not remember when he began the search, but he was sure it was some time ago. People would seem him searching, most would ignore him, either afraid to interrupt the search or afraid of him, probably…

    Lou Faber

  • ONE ROW OVER, TWO LIVES BACK

    I am somewhere southwest of Alaska, four hours outside Narita, and I notice him, three seats over and a row behind, a middle seat, yet the Buddha doesn’t seem to mind. He sits calmly sipping his Chivas and rubbing his round belly, his legs tucked neatly, lotus. He smiles at me, lifting his glass, “One…

    Lou Faber