I am in love the night sky, in all its different guises. Starry, foggy, cloudy, brightened by moonlight, clarified by cold weather, made rosy at sunset and dawn.

I am in love with the scent of rain, the sound of water falling on the leaves of trees and then tumbling further down to the ground. The moist loamy smell of damp earth, the soft cooing of birds nestled in the deepest, innermost branches, and the streetlights making the rain-soaked world glisten as brightly as the Christmas lights strung up on almost every house and tree in the neighborhood.

I left my bubble bath tonight, and wrapped myself in a blue bath sheet the color of the blue between the ocean and the sky, and padded, barefoot, across the living room which was lit only by a small Christmas tree on the table by the window, through the dining room, and out to the deck.

My hair and skin were still damp, still so warm that steam rose when I stepped outside.

Standing on the wet redwood boards, I breathed in the cool night air and watched the duck-float glide across the pool. I stood there for the duration of the lull between raindrops, then came inside, put on a soft cotton t-shirt and ancient, ripped leggings, and sat down to a lovely dinner of roasted chicken breast, vegetables and a glass of chardonnay.