an old writer and his words

  • JE SAIS QUOI

    I admit I am an odd duck, odder for not being a duck at all. But the expression has a certain je ne sais quoi to it, as does that expression and I am all about language. All that is a long round about way of acknowledging that I have always wanted to use the…

    Lou Faber

  • AND TODAY?

    He walks with what he considers a swagger. He will gladly stare you in the eye, and you will look away. He prides himself on constancy, knowing you will arrive each day, knowing you will bring nothing in response to his request. He’ll turn his back on you and ignore you once again. Then he…

    Lou Faber

  • LIBERACE WASN’T HERE

    The white crested duck waddles from the pond headed for the path on which we take our morning walks. He is accompanied by wives or girlfriends, we prefer to think one of each for propriety’s sake. Want to tell him that Liberace tried that hairstyle years ago, and it never worked on bad hair days,…

    Lou Faber

  • FOR THE BIRDS

    I’ve always been a bird person, perhaps it is just jealousy their ability to fly unencumbered, encased, to lift up by will alone. Here it is all about water, the Muscovy ducks waddling up to me each morning, pleading for the handout they should now know will not be forthcoming, at least when anyone else…

    Lou Faber

  • NARA PARK

    I Ducks skitter across Ara-ike pond like a perfectly thrown skipping stone. Two sit and preen on large rocks left as pedestals. A spider dragging its prey along the weathered wood railing of the bridge pauses for a moment to contemplate ducks, then moves on consumed by hunger. II Several deer languish among the wizened…

    Lou Faber