input. blue sky. above 80 degrees. cool grass that is finally dry enough to sit in. special bone for betty. the rhythm is both random and steady. her teeth set up a steady groove on the edges and the occasional slip and the weighty drop make unexpected accents. fenway park. green gray brown red. steady murmur. crack. loud swells. boats. paddles. swoosh. swoosh. drip. drip. background music for simple chores. instead, i sit listening. it's coming from itunes. it's coming from betty. it's coming from the red sox. it's coming through the window. it's input. it's about to find the wood and the strings and the newness of creating. there's a vegetable garden growing in my big back yard. there's a rose garden smiling brightly in boston. there's room between buildings and cement and asphalt. there's room for all of it to find a path somewhere between the lemonade and the view and the scent of betty sleeping between my guitar and the red sox on tv. there's room on the collage to add something. that simply lemonade is good stuff.