It is rising in me. Like lava slowly boiling. I can feel it. About to burst forth. I hope it is less destructive than lava. Like a beautiful molten joy or love. Like a seed geminating. Covered in dark, dirty soil. The fertile void is a term I learned from Kate Northrup. I have to be honest, I am currently a hopeless gardener. Pretty much everything I try to grow dies a very sad death. It’s a bit of a joke between my family and friends and me. One of the women I nannied for in my 20s only ever had one bad thing to say about me when I used her for a job reference later in life, “Just don’t let her take care of your plants.” I have helped a lot of plants on their way to the compost heap. But I appreciate the brilliance of gardening and growing analogies. I especially love the ideas of things like bulbs. These ugly, slimy things lie dormant all winter and then, just when you wonder if they’ve all rotted and given up for good, they rise up and offer...