Being mindful of what’s right in front of us can always be a challenge. Here are 10 new items from my end.

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1. Just as we settle in at the beach, two busloads of day-campers march in, all wearing Camp Wanna Iguana tee-shirts. (No serious writer can make this stuff up.)
2. Hot, hazy, humid, lazy at last. Full leaf.
3. Revisiting photos of trails in the high country of the Pacific Northwest, I almost smell a spicy edge in the air or taste that incredibly blue sky. All of this imprinted, somewhere in my soul. Those days we headed to the high country for relief from the sweltering valley. Now we head straight to the Atlantic, hopefully free of the day-campers.
4. We wonder what’s happened to the couple who had the amazing garden a few blocks over. For years they both inspired and shamed us. But more recent years have shown far less effort. Could it just be too much for two? How much food do you need, anyway?
5. The Cold River in North Sandwich, New Hampshire, passes through a rocky stretch known as the Kettles before turning into the Grotto under the highway bridge. It’s a most glorious place to swim. But beware, it can be very chilly and after a big storm upstream, the current can knock you off your feet, especially on slippery rocks.
6. Vanilla Bang is a misreading, of course, of what looks like a fuse.
7. An army must be clothed and fed as much as armed and fortified, and that’s where the trouble begins. Think of all those farmers, fishermen, and merchants.
8. The kid never, ever, accepted the word No, not from anyone. She did – and does – what she wants.
9. In too much of what I’m reading in literature, all the Manhattan or MFA settings. Well, even I do have one that takes place, in part, in New York City.
10. Just what is a marriage, anyway?

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Just a taste of what’s popping up. In case you were looking for a prompt.

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1. Hard to believe we’ve entered our 17th summer here. The garden’s looking gorgeous, even stunning, in its simplicity of blocks and clumps rather than straight, unbroken rows. Our soil is so much livelier than it was when we arrived. The house and barn have undergone many renovations, too – with much more remaining on the to-do list. That is to say, this bit of land has become home. I return to the old lesson from Boy Scouts – leave a campsite cleaner than you found it. And she even dares raise the possibility of moving?
2. Asked when he knows a poem’s finished, Gary Snyder replies: “When I lose interest.” Or I might add, “Energy.” Just what is it in a text that energizes, anyway? Smolders. Seduces. Dances?
3. The point of my writing fiction, essentially: I want to make sense of all this. Or even some corner.
4. It’s so clear – so painfully, embarrassingly clear – I’ve needed permission to feel anything. All my emotions, being repressed, generate my mask!
5. I’ve forgotten how to read an astrological chart. What are all these strange symbols?
6. After recasting a novel, I recognize a pattern that requires two more sweeps of revision, even after a proof-read. One looks for repeated words that could be changed to synonyms. The other inserts slang and more color.
7. Nothing like a rainfall to bring forth the dreaded garden slugs.
8. My psychic color this decade? Barn red! Traditional New England barn red.
9. You can’t expect a bolt from the blue. (There is a responsibility.)
10. We need to get praying. Any way we find fitting.

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Whenever possible, I love taking Amtrak’s Downeaster to North Station in Boston. Or the C&J bus to South Station. It beats finding parking — expensive parking — in the heart of the city. Alas, most of my forays wind up in the suburbs, where driving makes much more sense.