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

  • AGAIN, REALLY?

    As you age, and I writefrom increasingly painful personal experience,life becomes ever more paradoxical.Things you once could easily do,wanted to do often, become difficultand some almost impossible(get your mind out of that gutter,I meant things like heavy liftingAnd home maintenance projects).And things you never thoughtyou would ever do becomethe stuff of daily life (just askyour…

    Lou Faber

  • FROM THE ASHES

    I would like to go backto the days when,after a fire reduceda commericial buildingto charred rubble,the onlookers andthe gawkers wonderedif it was an angrycustomer or employee,or sloppiness orpoor maintenance. Now, we watchas the fire marshalscomb through the ashesand the rubble, lookingnot only for the sourceof the flames but alsothe accelerant, alwayswondering as we dojust how…

    Lou Faber

  • VIOLIN

    We sat at the table, sucking the last of the djej from the bones piled along the edge of the platter. “I played for seven years” he said, “under Tilson-Thomas and later Rudel, bad years those, I sat two rows back second from the stage edge.” He was unremarkable, forgettable until he nestled the violin…

    Lou Faber