an old writer and his words

  • WINTER MEMORY

    As I stare out the window and watch the snow slowly build on the limbs of the now barren sugar maple, painting it with a whiteness that bears heavily giving the smaller branches a better view of the ground in which their fruit of the summer lies buried. I am forced to wonder if the…

    Lou Faber

  • FINALLY FALLING

    Outside the snow finally falls and presses the last fallen Maple leaves into the ground free, for now from the rake. Outside the snow finally falls and for a few hours November is redeemed and my shoes are suddenly inadequate even on the half plowed road. Outside the snow finally falls and the full moon…

    Lou Faber

  • EARLY ARRIVAL

    Autumn came on hard today the drop in temperature not unexpected in these climes, but still unwanted, forcing the closing of windows. Still, as the afternoon faded, I shouted toward the window a reminder not to go gently into night to fight the soon approaching dark. The squirrel on the lawn outside the window stood,…

    Lou Faber

  • BRIEF THOUGHTS (3 HAIKU)

    In the sunlit park the small dog watches the man go fetch the thrown ball Maple leaves emerge almost certain that winter is now history A rain of petals cherry snow covers the ground we await the fruit.

    Lou Faber

  • SETTLING

    The old, weathered maple leans into the sun, its trunk stroking the cobbled cottage which sits against the foothill. The square window peers out over a wildflower garden as the roof’s peakline settles comfortably into old age. Walking around it I see the back roof has collapsed the back wall ever threatening to return to…

    Lou Faber

  • EDGE OF WINTER (FOUR HAIKU)

    The clouds build slowly threatening to overtake the maple’s red leaves. October cloud knives Slice branches from saddened trees Leaves fall in mourning Dogs peer at dawn’s sky And slowly don winter coats Knowing geese take flight Tomorrow the snow Will not fall from evening clouds But soon, very soon

    Lou Faber

  • DUSK

    As the afternoon fades, the gray of the sky deepens, the crows gather in the highest branches of the older trees, until the leafless branches seems suddenly burdened with great black leaves. As the already waning light fades they take up their hymns to the passing day, approaching night, and we wait patiently amid the cacophony…

    Lou Faber