an old writer and his words

  • RISING TIME

    Night rises slowlyfrom tangled rootsdragging ocher and rustfrom reluctant trees,promising only winter.We cannot see this,we sense only time eroding,slipping off untilthe trees are naked.They want onlyto hide themselvesin a shimmering gownof snow, recallingtheir verdancy, imagininganother season, a seasonof hope, a seasonof consecration, of light,of resurrection.We stand emotionallystripped on the banksof the stream into whichwe cannot…

    Lou Faber

  • NAMELESS ONE

    It is truly unfair, sucks really,that proximity has cast meas nameless, yet I am forcedto wear all manner of termsthat fit their mood at anygiven moment, and even thenthey can’t seem to agree. You can say it is petty, but Iam jealous of Titan, and helleven Phobos and Deimoshave proper names, and theyare a misshapen,…

    Lou Faber

  • AT ALL COSTS

    The problem is oneof disequilibrium, for wehave grown tired of itbefore it has growntired of us. There is no agreementto be reached,no chance ofa detente, nostate of truce. We will defeat it,we have nochoice, but untilthen the viruswill be our companion.

    Lou Faber

  • ON MORTALITY

    Death was never something we considered, until that certain, ill-defined moment when our immortality suddenly disappeared, and in its place was a reality to be avoided. Even once death became a shadow, always lurking around us, we kept our face toward the sun, so that death might not be seen in the bright light of…

    Lou Faber