an old writer and his words

  • FASCINATION

    They strut across the yard as ifimagining themselves peacocks,trying to attract the eye of anyonewho might glance in their direction.The day is slowly fading, the sunreluctant to depart hoversover the waiting horizon fascinatedby these large birds on stilted legs.The cat, ensconced on the lanaiwanders over to the screenand calls out quietly, invitingconversation, always willing to…

    Lou Faber

  • DOWN UNDER

    Whenever I heard Rolf Harris sing “Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport,” I had to wonder just what the kangaroo would make of that request. They aren’t the most patient of mammals and I knew few people who could hope to outrun one if it were intent on making a getaway. And I have never known…

    Lou Faber

  • AFFIXED

    I can only begin to imaginehow utterly strange I must lookto the Great Blue Heron standingin the wetland behind our home.What must he make of this odd creaturewith thick legs that seemdisproportionately short comparedto their bodies, why their neckshave such limited mobility, whythey cannot look behind themselvesor scratch their chins with their toes.But the birds…

    Lou Faber

  • HEY, HUMANS

    The birds huddle lowin the brush of the wetlanddelaying their morning departure.You caused this, theywant to say but cannot,knowing we are linguistically challenged.What they mean is that wehave robbed themof so much of their habitat,carving out small areasas a balm for our souls,or that this shockingly coldmorning, they know, isa product of human activity,as much…

    Lou Faber

  • ONCE A HOME

    They arrived again as the sunprepared for impending departure.The wetland is verdant and smallan area the developer reluctantlyset aside for nature, not knowingor caring that the birds who oncecalled this whole area home,a thousand and more each eveningare now crowded into this aviantenement, gone are their spacious homesgiven over to ours, but the birds knowwhen…

    Lou Faber

  • WETLAND BRAVADO

    He was the smallest, thatis what drew you to him.Still, he had a certain bravadoa serious strut to his walk.Perhaps it was becausehis father was there, a protectorin part, in another part a challenge.He knew his mother was lookingso it became a matter of pride.He could imagine himselfa father one day, his own childrentrailing behind…

    Lou Faber

  • CIRCLING

    This morning as the bellsignaled the end of morning zazenthe whistling ducks took uptheir song, circling the wetlandas if inviting me to photograph them. They quickly grew bored waitingand flew off to a placeI do not know, can not imagine. Perhaps they will returnthis afternoon, circlein a duck like pose as I capturethem with the…

    Lou Faber

  • ABSURD, FL

    The utter and complete absurdityof living in Florida canbe ever so easily illustrated. Last evening the neighbor’sdog decided it neededto express itself and did soin clear and loud terms. The limpkins and gallinulesin the wetland behindboth our homes shouted backand based on my admittedlylimited vocabulary of birdthere were several fourletter words and at least oneupraised…

    Lou Faber

  • CATHARTIDAE

    They circle slowlyeach in its own tierof a near cloudless sky,their wings stillas if frozen, ridingthe breeze, dippingand rising, going nowhere,needing nowhere,riding, riding, lookingdown at the wetland,and circling, untilwith a shift in the breezethe vulture vortexshifts east, and youwatch them shrink,thankful that theyare simply outfor a flight, and notfinding a mealin the reedsand treeswhere allthe…

    Lou Faber

  • CECI N’EST PAS

    This morning the skyis a painting by Magritteas it is most days, no titleCeci n’est pas un ciel. The birds rise fromthe wetland as Escherwould imagine them,the small wetlandonce a place thatmight be painted byMonet on a day whenhe cared nothingfor water lillies, but nowa jungle of Gauguin. We wait for the returnof the flocks…

    Lou Faber