All Posts By: Byron McCoy

        They walked paved trail along the park beneath the autumn trees: honey-amber of the maples, scarlet of the oaks, beginning of leaves’ fall in strewn and blow over path and lawn of open green.         A somber went unspoken, but held and felt—as cloud—amongst a perfect blue.  Feeling, sensing, he spoke. […]

       He blew a hydraulic line, one small and slow in leak but—out of oil—broke him down all the same.  Slow drip from continuous pressure, flash of hydraulic fault, he stopped, inspected, tracing lines from implement forward to tractor’s join—and there it was, small wear and drip in through.  More often, lines straight blew.     […]

        Sunlight filtered through the sky, clouds as gossamer strands in hold of the rays in catch and drift through air.  Glow lighted on the changing trees; yellow and ambers of pecans and sycamores in stand around the pond.         It was beautiful, ethereal, supernatural in sight and sense that affected into […]

        Leaves of the hackberries, willows, and birch reminded him of aspens—snow in the high country.  Yellows of them all, though bark more gray than aspen’s white, they were striking in a color and contrast to the barren harvested autumn-ground around.           Like the aspens, leaves of the willows fell first from […]

        He loved how there was always change: new details, accents, refinements of room that cast all known and loved as new.  However grand, however small, nuances that changed the spirit—spirit of a home, spirit of a home, the souls that lived amongst; visiting or making home.         Natural of tones, simple […]

        She felt the moon.  She felt the magic—both calling to her then.           A change on the wind, cool blow from the north.  There would be a killing frost; ice crystals’ suspend in air and sky forming halo around full moon, bright aurora around form, hinter-edged in prism light, kaleidoscopic in the […]