All Posts By: Byron McCoy

               “Nowadays, almost all capable people are terribly afraid of being ridiculous and are miserable because of it.”—Fyodor Dostoevsky _____                “Do you want to be a martyr?” she asked jokingly and, too, half-serious.                 “No,” he answered beginning and staying in the lightness of affectionate ridicule before furthering into weight of under-truth, “but I […]

               Standing in hide among reeds and frond heads of tall marsh grasses, even the decoys in open-pocket water, close, were obscured.                Fog held low and heavy and suspended as mist that floated more than fell faint and light from sky.  Air and the decoy spread were still, lifeless, but James didn’t worry.  In […]

               Annie lain in repose on the long-drawn couch without armrests to set ends and limits to its bounds.  Upon it she read in continued openness of night, reading in the yellow-gold of a new-life sun.                 She read in the book of reentry and life meaning, where one finds meaning, purpose, and moments of […]