All Posts By: Byron McCoy

               “…Frodo stood awhile still lost in wonder.  It seemed to him that he had stepped through a high window that looked on a vanished world.  A light was upon it for which his language had no name.  All that he saw was shapely, but the shapes seemed at once clear cut, as if they […]

               In February still, they walked the trail in cedar line, corridor-path between the trees from road to hidden home and lawn amongst the trees that became a place of magic and almost-heaven in hour of evening shade.                He loved to be with her in place, she present and immersed in a love other […]

               It was a dreary day.  Snow was gone, melted in air just above freezing and in mist that one could not call rain but chilled and changed in fine and saturation of the sky.                It was a strange sky in which to find joy; yet, to her, his spirit seemed.                “Why are […]

               She smiled on the gift and sign, her mind in dreams as she rearranged the green and colored open blooms—petals soft in delicate of thin and fair of light-toned hues.                Her spirit was in romance, her mind in same.  She moved about the room, near in float, with a levity of spirit’s way. […]