Zygote is my favorite word. Everyone once was one, and no one had a choice where on this blue dot they would land, or whether they got brown eyes, black, green, indigo or not. I wish everyone could learn to swim and read and not drive under an influence. I think everyone has a spark of creativity inside that longs to get out there; some don’t realize it yet or have not found a way to do that, but they do recognize sparks in others, and it doesn’t necessarily take language or a set of rules to express it. One look, one touch, one aroma, one taste, one harmonica playing somewhere. That could be the door.