an old writer and his words

  • IN ABSENCE

    The dawn failed to appear this morning. There was a slight lightening of the sky, more a change of grayscale shade that a shift in time-honored by the sun. The crows seemed to notice, why else would they stay silent, so unlike most days when the first rays of sun were the call to take…

    Lou Faber

  • EOS

    Tomorrow the morning will arrive as it always does, eating the last vestiges of night, painting the sky in puce and crimson. It will foretell the rain that will carry our dreams down the hill and into storm sewers, eventually to wash into the lake. But in that moment when the sky is ablaze, none…

    Lou Faber

  • OR NOT

    He screwed up his face into the scowl that fairly shouted to all, “Don’t Ask!”. She knew better but knew also that she had no choice, “What’s the matter now?” “It’s just,” he said, softening a bit, “that I so seldom get the weather I need, much less the weather I want, it’s never the…

    Lou Faber

  • BURDEN OF WINTER

    On this one a taste clinging gingerly, on this one clumps, here a variegated blanket. Each tree bears the burden of winter in its own way.

    Lou Faber

  • A MURDEROUS CACOPHONY

    The crows were at it in the park today, unable, it seemed, to agree on anything and unwilling to let any other have the last word. I asked them to stop, and that bought all of fifteen seconds of peace before one decided the debate needed to go on. It was a cacophony hard on…

    Lou Faber

  • THICKNESS OF DAY

    The clouds are thick today, each merging into the next like an ill-woven blanket, stitches dropped, but still not admitting light. None assumes familiar shapes, none require more than a passing glance, though none promise much-needed rain. Today clouds simply cast a pall and we are left to bear their omnipresent reluctance to be of…

    Lou Faber

  • EVOLUTION

      We arose from water, crawled forth and inhabited the land and claimed dominion and the land appeared to cede itself to us, knowing better and caring even less. We return to the water feel its pull but immerse ourselves only partially, willing to risk only half drowning, the land and air usually silent, knowingly…

    Lou Faber

  • CECI N’EST PAS UN PARC

    This morning over the Park a Magritte sky is hung. Several birds gather in an old oak to discuss this, twittering thoughts in surprise. Their conclusions fly off at the approach of a black lab joyously frolicking in imagined freedom.

    Lou Faber

  • OF BEAUTY

    We love the flower, more so if it adopts the brighter shades of nature’s palette, and even tolerate the fern, but only if it truly honors the greens it is supposed to bear and unfurl. We save our spite for the fungus which reaches up to us with surprising haste, nothing this day, fully formed…

    Lou Faber

  • HAWKING AUTUMN

      The hawks have been circling more frequently of late, but in the early autumn laziness of merely riding the breezes that seem to pick up in the mornings, before the midday sun bids them be calm so it can make its transit. By afternoon, they tend to roost high up in the giant pines,…

    Lou Faber