All Posts By: Byron McCoy

               Evening shade in magic-hour—light and shadow through trees gone of October-gold, cold and, after, nude in winter’s way—he wrote a story.  He wrote it as it came not knowing what it was nor where it would lead.  It caught his interest.  Beginning wrote and, from, he found the rest.                 At story’s finish, he […]

               Winter solstice, shortest day of year.                 Leaves of the almost-laurel showed winter withered and blood maroon, dark hued faces and undersides of brown and blend-faded green.  Nearer to earth, closer to porch’s shelter from frost and winter’s kill, low leaves kept green, but they were few and far between.                Winters could be […]

               He kissed her taste of mistletoe, candied sugar of her lips, as warmth of the spirit took its hold in heart and expanding out.                After kiss, they smiled, radiant through meek.  She held his hand as body turned and, with other hand, she refined final details to scene’s array.                Party came.  Party […]

               He tended hearth, enkindling flame in soft build from night ash and embers.  Beginning with small strips of wood splintered from ax split and maul on inner burls and branch-interrupted grain, he stirred the ash to find the glow, arranging wood upon, and then breathing life as blow until fire’s take.  Larger pieces upon […]

               In cold of night near to autumn’s last, she sat on patio beside fire of piped gas and not of wood.  Still, it was nice to be near to the warmth, near to its light and the close of him beside.                In fine stemmed glass that flared above, she stirred her drink with […]

        “The stories are coming in a vein different from what I’m used,” he spoke.         “You’re allowed and free to change,” she affirmed.         “I worry what others might think.”         “Great thing, almost nobody cares; and the few that do—it’s because they want to know […]