Time yet for a hundred indecisions, for a hundred visions and revisions, before the taking of a toast and tea (sorry, TS Eliot, if I didn't get it quite right).
Such a glorious time of year; the dogwoods in brown-red blush, the ginkos yelling yellow, the lawns still holding their green. It's a wonderful time to write, and I hope you will.
I owe a couple of comments, but first, a new writing topic:
Answer this question in list or narrative format (or both) (list could become a poem) (a list poem, even), fictional or not, first or third or even second-person:
What do you want to be when you grow up?
If you need a kick-start, make it a dialogue...
Write for 12 minutes.
Looking forward to reading you!