an old writer and his words

  • EVER PATIENT

    Fuji-san, its snow cap slowly retreating,smiles down on the ever goldening rice shoots.The holy mountain pays no notice to the Shinkansenhurtling its way from Tokyo to Osakanot pausing to pay homage to the godswho inhabit the venerable volcano and whohave grown tired awaiting the favor of thoserushing, always rushing, to be somewhere else.Fuji-san knows that…

    Lou Faber

  • YES MISTRESS

    When you are owned by a catyou must be constantly wary,for every kindness hides behind ita claw poised as a reminder. Cats realize we are uniquely difficultto train, that we can be finicky,slow to respond to their demands,and they will forgive that, but only to a point. There is much they would teach usabout the…

    Lou Faber

  • BEING A PART

    He wanted, most of all, to bea part of something, butsomething that had never existed,a dissonance in an orderly universethat was slowly devolving into chaos.He was a shadow, seen only by dayand often ignored, not invisible, but nearly so.He would soon emerge from the darkness,welcome the day, the sun’s too briefappearance, his footsteps would echoa…

    Lou Faber

  • ONE WAY TICKET

    He steps off the train. He looks around expecting her to be there. She said she would meet him. It is why he came. She does not answer her phone. As the night approaches, he gets a text message, waits patiently for the next train back to where he started. Appeared in 50 Word Stories,…

    Lou Faber

  • NOT COUNTING

    I have had two,although the first is longforgotten, so perhaps itno longer counts, itcertainly didn’t to her,announcing its endlike the conductorof a train running lateon the mainline to sadness. Perhaps I have not forgottenbut all I see is myselfstanding alone, intoningwords to which the crowdintently listens, much likethe audience at a readingby a lesser known…

    Lou Faber

  • NEVER BOATS

    “Trains are present,” she said,” and somewhat the buses, but airplanes are mostly absent.” I understand what she meant, and didn’t need her to cover hands over her ears to cement the point. On a train, most sit back, some with ear buds but many simply stare out the window at towns and villages and…

    Lou Faber

  • LAKE SHORE LIMITED

    The little girl-women pile onto the train carrying backpacks, pillows and stuffed animals, all they will soon leave in the rooms of childhood. In the train’s café, Gerald welcomes us back his “established customers,” he says to all, as we sit beneath the wide awning that is his smile, sipping the much needed coffee.

    Lou Faber

  • THE WATCHER

    He stands transfixed on the bridge, arms outstretched, staring at the river always flowing slowly by below. He wears a garland of gold, an inscription in Hebrew, the holiest of holies, mocking those who hold him a man. Did he peer out of the corner of his eyes as they marched them across the bridge…

    Lou Faber

  • ON THIS NIGHT

    On this night the moon retreats from the sky, leaving the stars to play hide and seek behind broken clouds. The silence is enfolding, save for the whistle of a distant train traversing the city, and the whisper of the wind caressing the needles of the pine who answer wih a passionate moan.

    Lou Faber

  • IN DREAMS

    Late in the night a train rolled by through the city, a few miles down the hill from here, its horn muted but still required at crossings. I know it appeared in my dreams, but I cannot tell if it was as the heron in flight over the lake, or the long bearded hiker with…

    Lou Faber