All Posts By: Byron McCoy

               They fished together from bank of the farm pond dam.  Above, sky shone free and blue with wisps that seemed celestial mirage as air filled with birdsong notes enlivened in the glory of the sun.  Between Emma and Ryan, there held a quiet peace.                 Beneath her feet, it seemed the brome cover of […]

               Dawn began without announcement of light, a grey cloud filled the valley, cool and damp, and through open door and windows of small cabin, they held beneath covers of a bed as fire burned in dampened steel stove.                 From open sky above in star-filled night, morning and world were changed in arrival of […]

               They rested on river’s bank watching sunlight dance over contour-ripples of water’s face as current spoke, softly, across shallows sounding in song over broken bed of rock with shelves and polished pebbles, stone carved and moved from heart of a mountain.  Gazing and listening to the river’s run, each took from river different truths […]

               “For the fragrance that came to each was like a memory of dewy mornings of unshadowed sun in some land of which the fair world in Spring is itself but a fleeting memory…Suddenly, he opened his eyes, and looked…with a light of knowledge and love was kindled in his eyes, and he spoke softly…”—J.R.R. […]

               In the steep-walled sanctuary, valley of dream, they made love beneath shadow of trees; in the half-light of river’s edge where air held low and cool in blanket over water’s face and laurel bloomed in the first of June; blossom bells opened in splendor of revelation colored in purity of white and tenderness of […]

               Together, they broke in night to trembling of a storm: slow-rolling tremors that lasted then lingered as after-echo through sky and spirit as rain struck in waves upon window face to bursts in flood and change of stirring winds as light danced through energy’s release.                 When day arrived, gone was the storm.  Sky […]

               “Do you believe there are limits to what stories should be told?” he asked.                She smiled, thinking, and brushing away fallen hair from face so that answering eyes shone and spoke more true.                 “I am not the author of your stories,” she answered.  “You are; and each author writes their own answer […]