an old writer and his words

  • BECAUSE

    The older man walks slowly downthe beach, each foot carefully placedto find a purchase the waves would take away.He shields his eyes from the sun, ignoresthe myriad shells the ocean offers up,does not bother to hear the song of the wavesthat soon will erase all evidenceof his presence here today.He walks along this beach becauseothers…

    Lou Faber

  • A PAUSE

    They ride the tides ashoreby the thousands and tens of thousandsnesting lightly on the waiting sand.We stroll the beach struggling for a footingfor which they have no need,stopping frequently to pick one up,look at it carefully and if it passesour completely arbitrary test,pocket it for display at home.We watch the gulls, pelicansand osprey ride the…

    Lou Faber

  • CURFEW

    We sat in the cramped kitchenhuddled around the stovethe open oven door spreadinga faint warmth that barelyslid through the winter chill.The bare bulb in the ceilingstrained and flickeredfighting to hold as the generatorswere shut down, and darknessenveloped our small world.The sky was lit by the flaresand the odor of exploding shellsseeped through the towelsealed windows…

    Lou Faber

  • CANINE

    The dog refuses to walkaround the house and checkthe driveway, and sothe shells will rain on the villageas they do each time she senses fear. She has a sight beyond thatI can fathom, curled underthe heat vent, as thoughthe cries of children carryin her dreams, her taildances against the grate. On most nights when she…

    Lou Faber

  • SHE

    She surely should have known better. Selling sea shells by the sea shore is a short sighted career path. Anyone can pick up the shells on the seashore, selling shells is simply silly, and she should see that. But each day she sets up her stand, sets out the shells, and sits waiting to see…

    Lou Faber

  • MESSAGE RECEIVED

    There was nothing he liked more than wandering along the shore early in the morning, before the rakes and people arrived, just to see what the night had washed in on the now departed high tide. There would be shells of course, but rarely one he didn’t have already in profusion, and the occasional jellyfish…

    Lou Faber