I am in love with nature’s fecundity. I am first a child of Earth whose feet found solace in damp, soft soil. Petrichor is a word as useless as snow, but everything it describes is my favorite fragrance. Moisture in the air soothes my skin, bounces my curls. Softens sharp edges. No single color pleases me more than the exuberant green of a wet new bud. Fecundity is fresh, fertile, pulsing. It is moist, ready. For growth. I want my environment so teeming with life it’s unnerving.