an old writer and his words

  • PADDIES

    At first it is a checkerboard of ponds neatly arrayed, reflecting the sun, the work of man, for God so rarely plays geometrician with creation, less often still using right angles. Soon enough green blades reach up through the shirred surface, random, reaching for a sun they can never touch. Later, it is a field,…

    Lou Faber

  • THE HERMIT

    The hermit lives in the shadow of the great mountain listening to the symphony of the bluebird and the wild Rose engulfed by the sky, the meandering stream his constant companion. I live in a city in a sea of city dwellers each of us prisoners marching from cell to cell, with passing nods we…

    Lou Faber

  • SEEKING THE BUDDHA

    I looked for you on the bullet train from Osaka to Tokyo, but perhaps you were in the unreserved car sharing a seat with a small girl, and a withered old woman, eyes closed, staring placidly at the holy mountain shrouded in clouds.

    Lou Faber