Andrea is a nerve: touch them once and an entire cosmos rushes through you. They are a lone constellation in a pitch-black sky, lighting just enough for you to imagine the galaxy you belong to. They remind you of the love pulsing quietly around you—in the shy leaf of a sprout pushing through slushy spring snow, in the cracked scales of an old tree’s bark, in the quick scramble of chipmunks chasing nuts, in the toppled mailboxes leaning by the roadside, in those endless yello