an old writer and his words

  • BLINDNESS

    The Great Egret standson the shore of the pondand stares at the tall grassesseeing what we cannot. We are impatient, walkaway quickly, anxiousto get on with our dayalthough we have no plans. We do not see him lungeplucking breakfastfrom the swaying reed,he sees us blind to nature.

    Lou Faber

  • FOOTHILLS

    The clouds well upover the foothillscasting a gray pall,bearing the angry spiritsof the chindi who danceamid the scrub juniper.Brother Serra, was thiswhat you found, wanderingalong the coast, tendingthe odd sheep, Indianand whatever elsecrossed your path? The blue birdhopping across the dried grassespuffing its grey breastplate and capesitting back, its long tail feathersa perfect counterbalance.It stares…

    Lou Faber

  • MINNESOTA

    The night fully settles over northern Minnesota in the sky grows dark as the stars make their reluctant appearance. Peering through the tall grasses of the wetlands abutting the road 1000 stars are born and die in an instant only to be reborn again repeatedly, until they are replaced by the beetles that accompany the…

    Lou Faber