But I like the sounds of the words, both alone and together. Dew. Point. Dew point.
And I like the images they connote: A summer lawn glistening with moisture. A summer evening filled with cricket and katydid song. A summer morning dash in my nightgown for the newspaper. It's covered with moisture. I shake off the plastic bag before pulling out the paper to read.
Before I'm saturated with the day, I'm saturated with the dew. That's my dew point.