Netbooking in the Rain

Rain pounded against the wooden rail like an infant’s first drum set, rattling with the sense that it was excited to be around. It hid in the darkness, only heard but not seen. When the wind heaved its mighty breath, occasionally the rain found its way onto the netbook’s screen as if a wave of wet static crashed against the case.
The netbook rested itself comfortably on top of an aged wooden table whose form was covered by a camp green tarp that barely obscured the roaring lion designs of the center post underneath. The netbook was safe from the torrents of moisture for the moment, hiding itself on the edge of the table closest to the sliding glass door. The other end of the table, for its part, gathered a puddle of water on its surface and continued to take every drop as though it was owed. The netbook’s keyboard was stroked competently, keeping the individual keys warm as well as dry.
The night that surrounded wass filled with the sounds of car tires skidding along the slick roads with a purpose. The looming clouds above gurgled with the threat of even more pressure, more boom and more incidental lighting. The crackle of the falling precipitation stirred memories of a child’s vacuum popper toy, tinkling against its plastic dome as it is rolled along the landscape.
This is the sound of peace. Tranquility. Netbooking in the rain.