an old writer and his words

  • THE VIEW FROM ABOVE

    The hawk sits in one of the highest branches of the tree, his red shoulders blazing in the morning sun, both staring down on those of us trapped by gravity, by the weight of our thoughts, as we pass by slowly below. From time to time the hawk will offer a short commentary, never ceasing…

    Lou Faber

  • AS THE CROW FLIES

    Leaving the fields of the countryside for the city, it is the birds that tell you when the invisible boundary has been crossed. There are usually signs along the roads bolted to steel poles but the birds know better. In the country, birds sing long arias to the day, to cornstalks making the slow green…

    Lou Faber

  • ON THE ROAD

    On the road I found Tao. I held it and gazed at it from every angle, but seeing nothing placed it back on the road. On the road I found a sutra. I held the scroll and gazed at its strange letters, but reading nothing placed it back on the road. On the road I found…

    Lou Faber