an old writer and his words

  • FIVE BIRDS

    The cold winter breezepalm fronds shivering at dawnegrets remain still a thousand birds landengage in conversationa foreign language arriving at duskwhite ibis strive to decidewho is the alpha the cat sits watchingthe sandhill crane approachesthey speak to each other a single ibisstruts across newly mown lawnsdinner now awaits

    Lou Faber

  • ANGLE OF INCIDENCE

    Dusk reflects dawn much asdawn reflects dusk, and it isour fear of night and deep needfor direction that sets them apart. Imagine a photograph of the sunhovering just over the horizon,compass-less we do not knowwhat preceded, what will follow. We prefer day and dawn, forit is then we feel in control,our thoughts leashed, our fearslocked…

    Lou Faber

  • BUDDHA NATURE

    A singe egret sits calmly on the lowest branch of a long barren tree, where hours from now a thousand birds will arrive for still another evening and night. He stares at me as I am mindfully vacuuming, watching carefully. I pause and ask if by chance he is a Buddha and he lifts his…

    Lou Faber

  • AFTERNOON STORM

    From twenty stories up lightning rends the fully fogged sky, a translucent gray curtain hung from an angry black ceiling. Nearby buildings and the streets below fade into misty oblivion. Even the approaching dusk sits back in wonder.

    Lou Faber

  • THE COLOR OF BEAUTY

    They sat on the bench in the park looking out on the small lake, two ducks swimming slowly in circles. “Dawn is the most beautiful moment of the day, the sun chasing the moon and setting the sky ablaze, orange, crimson, flame, there is simply nothing,” he said, “in the world quite like it.” “It…

    Lou Faber

  • TRANSITIONS

    Dusk is that hour when the mind and eyes mark the slow transition from light to dark. As day slides off, things that were obvious, things that once were simple, grow in complexity until the intricacy threatens to overwhelm you. When night fully settles, sanity returns grudgingly and the memory of dusk is but a…

    Lou Faber

  • DUSK

    As the afternoon fades, the gray of the sky deepens, the crows gather in the highest branches of the older trees, until the leafless branches seems suddenly burdened with great black leaves. As the already waning light fades they take up their hymns to the passing day, approaching night, and we wait patiently amid the cacophony…

    Lou Faber