an old writer and his words

  • UNSHOVELING

    There is much to love here,not the least of which is the lackof snow always needing to be shoveledwhen your back is most sore,when you need to be somewhereon a schedule the clouds chose to ignore.But the one thing you cannot find,the thing you never expectedto be that which you most missis the polychromatic season.For…

    Lou Faber

  • LEAVING

    They don’t do that here,the leaves do not demand to be seenonly in their chosen seasonsand their palette is self-limited.There is no budding in spring,no malus or prunus throwing offwild cascades of white and pinkpainting the ground around them.There is no riot of coloras summer retreats and winterplans its eventual arrival,blazing reds and oranges,yellow, ochers…

    Lou Faber

  • A FROSTY RECEPTION

    I truly wish Robert Frost was still aliveso I could ask him where he foundthat yellow wood of his poem.The woods I know are mostly pinein the Adirondacks, or mixed hardwoodsand when autumn arrives they greet itin shades of green, red, orangeochre and yes, some yellow,but hardly enough to givethe forest that titular color.And even…

    Lou Faber

  • GREAT DIVIDE

    The truck, a white Ford F-150with oversized tires was parkedon the lawn next to the smallparking lot, filling quickly as peoplearrived for the community market. There was a giant flag fixedto the bed of the truck, unavoidableflapping in the breeze,“Let’s Go Brandon,” and everyoneknew the message all too well. Some averted their eyes, a fewsmiled,…

    Lou Faber

  • THE FIRST JEW ON MARS

    The first Jew on Mars sifts the red sands through gloved fingers and kicks the small stone, glares up at the heavens the cold sun returning his stare and waits patiently for the rain of manna. looks vacantly across the landscape and curses under his breath at the absence of a good lean pastrami and…

    Lou Faber