Waterproof

I cannot say how much I wish reasonably-priced laptops were waterproof. But for this lack, I would be sitting on my tiny balcony watching the miracle of non-frozen precipitation...in FEBRUARY.

I would be sitting on my tiny balcony, watching the naked trees dance around in a frenzy. "Warmth!" they cry. "Moisture!" And like so many maenads they dance in the storm, whipping about and in danger of tearing their fellow revelers apart.

I would be sitting on my soaked balcony, allowing my skin to soak in this precious February humidity, allowing my flaky elbows, knuckles and calves to drink deep and croak out a raspy "thankssss."

I would be sitting on my wooden balcony, scruncing my toes in the velvety sodden wood, watching the edges of my hair sneak out from my hoodie and curl in the presence of moisture. I would be breathing the fresh, earthy air. I would be blinking eyelids that gradually cooled with the night.

And I would settle. Something in my heart would sigh. Something in my brain would signal my muscles to relax and sink deeply into the wood and brick supporting me and cling like ivy to the exterior of my tower room.
Something in me would shake its shaggy head, blink its unused eyes and rouse, yawning and expectant, at the first sign of Spring.

Oh, for a waterproof laptop...

or the ability to perform a good Impervious Charm