an old writer and his words

  • THE DARK TIME

    The trees, bearing up strongly against the still falling snow remember leaves, though the memory has run deep into the sap and slowed. Beneath the frosted bed the bulbs imagine summer, try to picture their blooms, but quickly returned to frozen stasis. The cat thinks of venturing into our yard, sinks its paws into the…

    Lou Faber

  • 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

  • SATURDAY MORNING, WINTER

    The radio is suddenly blaring and the clock of the stove says seven o’clock but the window retorts it is winter when there is no time. You pull up your collar as you prepare to leave. At the store, pick up a baguette, it will go well with a pork tenderloin with a sauce of…

    Lou Faber

  • A WINTER MEDITATION

    I have given up on winter, which is to say that I have fled its iron grip, but the memories I have linger painfully in the rods the surgeon carefully screwed onto my spine. It wasn’t the cold, though it was far from pleasant, but the snow that demanded but also defied being shoveled. I…

    Lou Faber

  • DEEP WITHIN

    In the dead heart of winter there is only a brief dusting of snow this day and the sun appears in appreciation before sulking off to far warmer climes.

    Lou Faber

  • SENTINEL

    The streetlight is a nocturnal Sentinel staring down. In some cities in other parts of this it could tell of the cries of drunks stumbling from closing bars, ambulances flashing in its cast shadows. On the street with sleeping homes it tells only of the snow that cradles its base.

    Lou Faber

  • WINTER, AGAIN

    The snow began falling this morning the dry, almost greasy snow that defies the plows running up and down the streets, too shallow for the salters to begin. Cars slide to a stop, or nearly so, at the intersection, and you know it is merely a matter of time before two will simultaneously, and there…

    Lou Faber

  • ENVELOPING

    The night wraps us in the faint light of the glowing moon. The snow falls, reflected in the street light’s glow, and settles on the snow fields of recent days that obscure the earth that suffers beneath. We will flee tomorrow and leave the snow in our wake, hoping that on our return a week…

    Lou Faber

  • TRAVEL: TWO THOUGHTS

    The packed suitcase sits on the futon but neither it nor I are in any hurry to depart. 4 AM in Chicago blanketed in snow is an orange neon painting.

    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