an old writer and his words

  • RETIREMENT

    A pair of wood storks were lazingon the verge of the pond thatimagines itself a lake, however small.They were breakfasting in the grassesthat arise in the dry season hereonly to be drowned by its counterpart.They acknowledge that like methey are retired but not by choice, they say,only because the malpractice insurancefor delivering babies has grownso…

    Lou Faber

  • LABORING

    There are those few momentswhen they sit on the bermaround the Igloo jug trying to findthe shade from a spindly palm cut backto almost nothing, the sunetching the sky with a molten heatthat melts away the few cloudsfoolish enough to appear.One keeps an eye outfor the supervisor knowinglunch is hours off and there areno breaks…

    Lou Faber

  • TOZAN’S NO GRASS

    When you wanderin search of the waydo you stop at a meadowreplete with wildflowersor the barren fieldbereft of grass and plants.The wise man knowsthe barren fieldis the garden he needs. A reflection on Case 89 of the Book of Equanimity (従容錄, Shōyōroku)

    Lou Faber

  • MORNING SONG (Awdl Gywydd)

    The sun creeps down city streetsdew retreats from the grassesand fills the air, with sweet scentuntil spent, the bus passes. The robin sits in the treeas worms flee into the lawn.The morning foretells the rainthat will slowly drain the dawn. The city quietly wakesand stretching, shakes off the sleepit slowly comes back to life,the sun…

    Lou Faber

  • COLOURS

    We hunted him as a stagacross his fields, trophywe called him red man,color of Ares, godssacrificed on our altar,his rivers run with his spirit.I am whitebereft of color,barren, a glarea desert stripped of life.It is I who wearCain’s mark, pluckedfrom the gardenthe sweet taste fadesmy lips are dry.You are blackan amalgam, greenof the grasses in…

    Lou Faber

  • SMALL REFLECTION

    It is that moment when the moonis a glaring crescent,slowly engulfed bythe impending night—when the few clouds give outtheir fading glowin the jaundiced lightof the sodium arc street lamp.It nestles the curb—at first a small bird—when touched, a twisted piece of root. I want to walk into the weed-strewnaging cemetery, stand in the shadowof the…

    Lou Faber

  • PARKING

    It is the difference I always noticebetween small and large cities: the parks. When you sit deeply withinBoston Commons or Central Parkyou can feel the city alwaysthreatening to encroach andonce again make you its prisoner,smell and hear the city, trafficand trucks rumbling, hornsplayed in a cacophonous symphony. In small cities you can sit in a…

    Lou Faber

  • MIRAGE?

    Outside the doornestled in the tall grasswhite, a plumegossamer, a giftperhaps from a skyfinally blueor a tearfor the summer’sdeparture,or, perhaps,a promise,down paymenton the freedomfrom gravitylong soughtnever attained.

    Lou Faber

  • EATING MEDITATION

    The key to a simple meal is to cook the rice until each grain sits comfortably next to its neighbor without touch or embrace. On this, pour a bit of miso diluted by water of a stream or pulled from deep within the earth. Top it all with finally cut vegetables, carefully strewn as you…

    Lou Faber

  • HALT

      But what if, just once time slowed significantly or even stopped. A bird becomes frozen in the sky, not moving, not falling, staring at the distant tree in total stillness. A drop of rain hovers just over the grass dreaming of chlorophyl. If you had such a moment how would you wish to spend…

    Lou Faber