an old writer and his words

  • CABERNET

    I should pause for a momentand mourn the plump orbsvinaceous in the morning sun,torn free, placed in basketsand carried off to be crushed.But the cabernet beckons,its first sip telling the taleof the California summer,the oak having long forgottenthe tree from which it was cut,and I watch as the sunreluctantly retreats,a flaming farewell, the promiseof a…

    Lou Faber

  • PAYMENT IN FULL

    On this day I will give the cat a bath.this involves an elaborate ceremony,as befits an almost unique occasion. I awaken at the usual hour, performmy usual bathroom ritual, to the mirthof the cat who curls up on the dirtylaundry in the basket in the closet. I dice the pear, slice the banana,pluck and carefully…

    Lou Faber

  • IN VINO

    The vines cling to the hillside, the small buds soon yielding fruit but now simply soaking up the spring sun. You dream the grapes are fat, the deep purple orbs holding in their Syrah, Grenache, Mourvedre, and you only wish it would wash down the hillside and stain the sometime fetid River. The boats flow…

    Lou Faber

  • IN VINO VERITAS

    He is convinced he is simply squeezing the sun out of each plump orb. The sun lies within, but he lets it kiss its skin goodbye before pouring the sunshine into the oak barrels where the sun will have time to concentrate until it slips over the lips perhaps on a cold autumn day and…

    Lou Faber