I wake at 4am to the sound of soft rain falling. I get up and go outside to put the lid on my trash can filled with tecoma branches and bougainvillea trimmings. I am naked from sleeping. I stand in the dark courtyard for a long moment and feel the gentle raindrops on my bare skin. A kind of childlike awe fills me that borders on the edge of glee, only more quiet. In the morning the rain has stopped. After I fill the bird feeders and put clean water in their terra cotta saucers, I stand again in the courtyard (clothed now). I marvel at the delicious beauty of my little garden. The colors and the freshness of it, the fuchsia blossoms on the bougainvillea, the pale orange of the sprawling apricot mallow, the bright yellow of a small sunflower, all washed clean by the gentle rain. And poised now, ready for the promise of the birds.