an old writer and his words

  • APPROACHING WINTER

    We are in the season of stasis where nothing wants to move and nothing should shed the mantle of snow that has announced winter’s arrival in terms we full understand, as do the finches clinging to the feeder casting nervous glances skyward. The neighbor’s cat has decided that the remote chance of catching a bird…

    Lou Faber

  • APPROACHING WINTER

    The temperature falls, slowly at first but gaining speed, as though in the grip of winter’s gravity. Winter has the potential to be a black hole season into which we enter and imagine we will never reemerge into spring. The wind whispers stories to us of a time when this was all ice when no…

    Lou Faber

  • ADIRONDACK EVENING

    Atop the hill the trees are filigree against the fading light. The tents are fireflies twinkling as night reclaims the earth. I am caught up in the chill watching my breath kiss the stars. First Appeared in Blueline, Vol. 22, 2001.  Reprinted in Legal Studies Forum, Vol. 29, No. 1, 2005

    Lou Faber

  • WEB

    It has far less to do with the casting of the net, far more to do with the reeling it in. The spider wishes to work in peace weaving her web, does not desire to be seen. For her this is work and it is not until done, or as done as she chooses, that…

    Lou Faber

  • DAWN, AUGUST

    They cut neat incisions across the slate blue sky. The wounds they leave slowly peel back the white edges slowly spreading until the sky hemorrhages its cloud-like streaks. The oak drops yet another acorn and the squirrel scampers to gather it in before the sky flees under its gray-white blanket.

    Lou Faber

  • TOMORROW

    Tomorrow, he is certain, it will be sunny and surprisingly warm or it will rain, with a cool breeze or it will be temperate but rather cloudy. It may be none of these or all, by turns. He would ask the weatherman but he knows none and this would be such a personal question you…

    Lou Faber

  • WAITING FOR

    It was lying there, on the ground, waiting to be noticed, unsure of why everyone walked by, some glancing, most lost in thought. It hadn’t been there long, but certainly long enough to be seen, of that it was certain, yet there it lay staring crimson at the sun overhead, and even the one passing…

    Lou Faber

  • CORNFLOWER

    This morning, as I do most mornings, I took my paints and painted the sky blue. Today for some reason, I opted for Cornflower, it seemed to fit my mood and the neighbors cat, after considering it for a few moments seemed to agree with my choice, though she suggested tomorrow might be better served…

    Lou Faber

  • AFTERNOON STORM

    From twenty stories up lightning rends the fully fogged sky, a translucent gray curtain hung from an angry black ceiling. Nearby buildings and the streets below fade into misty oblivion. Even the approaching dusk sits back in wonder.

    Lou Faber

  • WASH IN

    The morning paper said that a surprising number of Portuguese man o’ war washed up on the beach yesterday, bringing out the Dangerous Marine Life flags. The paper also featured stories on two fatal hit and runs, a person killed in an apparent drug deal gone bad and the opening of a redone highway exit…

    Lou Faber