Annie Dillard once wrote "The creator...churns out the intricate texture of least works that is the world with a spendthrift genius and an extravagance of care." Sitting on my front porch this morning, I was overwhelmed by the gratuity of nature while watching a robin bathe in a puddle. It rained last night, lots of good lightning late into the darkness. The road when I woke this morning was still pockmarked with dampness, and across the street along the chainlink fence a long puddle remained between it and the road. I sat with a mug of tea, letting my morning buzz of thoughts calm into a navigable flow. I watched with delight as a robin threw his pudgy red body into the puddle and shimmy into the dampness, fluffing and spasming in the water to get every feather wet. With a last shake, he flew above the neighbor's garden onto an electrical wire and began to dry himself in the same way he washed himself, fluffing and shaking. He would pause sometimes, as if he had gotten d