All Posts By: Byron McCoy

        I’m tired.  I want to write a romance, but I don’t have the words tonight.  I’ll leave it as a dream, and at that, I go to sleep.

               Morning started off.  I believed it could be (and still can), but it isn’t the best start.                5:30, alarm set by my daughter goes off.  She sleeps through, but her little brother, one room over, doesn’t.  Awake, he comes out and asks if he could take a shower.                Seeing no reason or […]

               I love being a baseball home, the basket by back door specific for balls and gloves—designated by our matriarch—and how, being boys, we often fall short in order and organization, even with guidance, and how our gloves are most often rest by whichever door last used to go outside and play, symbol and sign […]

        I’m sitting in our middle school parking lot beside a snowed over track and field.  My son Matthew met with a friend and is going for a mile run, not on track but cleared parking lot (an audible with reality and conditions on the ground).           He came to honor a […]