an old writer and his words

  • WORKSHOP

    Grace settles into the chair,less an act of sitting thanof floating down onto the seat.She has borrowed my grandmother’ssmile, kind, gentle, inviting.She pulls a book from her bag,its pages or most of themdog eared, and I glimpsesome annotations in the margins.We sit around her like childrenawaiting presents on a holiday,as acolytes seeking knowledgefrom a font…

    Lou Faber

  • SOMETHING

    There is something gentle about her, a softness, as though she arrived on a gentle breeze, was present before you felt her on the back of your neck, a smile that cast your shadow on the snowy walk. She was often like this, as though knowing she might be an antidote to the harshness of…

    Lou Faber

  • TEXTURAL MIND

    Somewhere in here there is a hidden irony, not irony really, but a close enough approximation. We are creatures of softness, we relish textures that yield to our touch, would rather be swaddled than armored, vastly prefer the kitten or puppy to the armadillo or porcupine. It’s all about softness really. And despite this primal…

    Lou Faber

  • NAMASTE

    If you stare at it very closely and carefully you will soon see that deep within it there is silence. You may take it with you, it will go along willingly, but if only you don’t try and grasp it. It is soft to the touch, certainly, and has a sweetness that settles gently into…

    Lou Faber