Mornings in Haiti are sticky hot. There is no relief from the intense wet heat that smothers the island during the summer. Nights are only slightly cooler but somehow the sweat is a sweetness beneath such a vast black sky. Mornings are rough. The sun's coming, foretold, in the pinkish tentacles that spread slowly over the lightening sky, is not a welcome coming. Perhaps if I could drag myself out of the sleeping bag before sunrise; but I am not an early riser, and I've never been good at doing things that I know are good for me.