All Posts By: Byron McCoy

                The sun came up today.  It rose above from the horizon into a band of clouds, cresting again and splintered upon the crown of a barn behind our home scattering light in fractal rays from sky to earth.  I went outside to witness, and my youngest son joined.  He played with “his kitty” which […]

          For two days, I have witnessed sunrises with souls of fire wake outside my window: peach and fuchsia overtones above a backdrop of orange light that color the world before sun ever shows.  As dawn draws nearer to its rise, the orange background burns away in transcending hues—fainter oranges, indigos, yellow-blue, and then the […]

                The sky was blue before you ever saw the sun.  The mountain ridges rose high and steep from the narrow valley floor, and it was well into day before its golden orb ever crested the eastern ridge.                  On days when it snowed, the world in view was obscured in a powdered descent of […]

                 I went checking bean fields yesterday evening, scouting for spots with poor emergence.  It was a beautiful sight driving backroads and seeing flowers bursting from the roadsides.  By their appearance, you could tell where old homesteads used to be, where bulb flowers still appear season after season, bursting for years, generations, after the homesteads […]

                The corn changes overnight: taller and a deeper green.  Soon I will not have, this morning scene I see.  My horizon will be tasseled tops at field’s edge and not distant trees past open fields.  The field will be a “jungle” of perfect lined 30” rows in which children will get lost calling “Marco” […]

            There is a small handful of two-inch road rock that sits on the dash of my pickup.  They were given to me by four-year old son.  He hand-picked them one day as we walked a pasture with a fresh-spread lane leading down a hilltop to a working corral that becomes knee-high mud in wet […]