I met the lyrical beats tonight. The producers making a CD for children, specifically children with autism. He played a track this evening while we dined on salmon, cous-cous, sipping reisling, champaigne, and port.

It was an interesting evening. The orange walls converge with mustard walls meet at an african mask and I eat from a hand made plate, a homemade meal, an exotic feast, and wonder. Where am I, where's the drum circle, where are my words where is this life I grasped 1000 days ago. The creativity I aspired to. The dedication, the discipline, the freedom of throwing words on a page of discovering an idea of letting it simmer into a paper. The tears and frustration.