“Moral perfection consists in man’s being moved to the good not by his will alone, but also by his sensitive appetite, as in the words of psalm: ‘My heart and flesh sing for joy to the living God.’”—Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1770. _____ There was something of the morning sun that touched […]
All Posts By: Byron McCoy
Short Story
LOVE-SONG SIGN
Through window view of second floor shone evening fire sky in flame of orange and yellow light before onset of the reds and fade of violet hues, nighttime’s answer and western mirror to morning dawns and suns of the east. Awed, alive, inflamed at fire sky, she signed her spirit in start of […]
Journal Pages
NEWSPAPER FAME
“All bow down before wealth. Wealth is that to which the multitude of men pay an instinctive homage. They measure happiness by wealth; and by wealth they measure respectability…It is a homage resulting from a profound faith…that with wealth he may do all things. Wealth is one idol of the day and notoriety a […]
Short Story
A CREATIVE LIFE
“I want to live a Creative Life,” he spoke. “I want to live, share, and experience in the company—mind, spirit, and body—of others who desire to live and share the same. I want to express. I want to exchange. I want to live and find and trade in mutuality of openness when there […]
Short Story
WARM SPELL
They walked together trail and trees over Ozark mountainside, and in the warm spell sun, his mind returned into a memory that played in thought again. Willing, resisting drift and distance, he remained within the present. “Do you ever relive memories that were never more than thought?” he asked. “A story written, […]
Short Story
BEAUTY THAT LEADS
It was a unique place of commonness and culture, poverty and wealth; wealth wrought of a simple plan, by a simple man, who after gaining unfathomable paper money never left the simplicity and metaphysical truth of simple home and simple means. As is the way of most great wealths, it was the heirs […]
Journal Pages
BALANCING ACT
Night sets. It’s been a good day, but I am glad to be home: to slow and still and rest and find a little quiet if not silence (traffic still runs; it carries in the air, and I listen to the scratch of my son with a lighter trying to get the flame […]
Short Story
SEVENTH DOORWAY
Why is it the coldest days so often bear the brightest skies? He wondered in stare on the morning brilliance. Golden sun in cast-reflect off snow-white world crusted in surface melt of day before smoothed and sheened to unblemished face in freeze and fall of night. Sun returned, snow and world mirrored double-radiant. […]