Cold, wet and thinking

The skies burst
Spewing streamers of clear ribbons
The occasion rocked by flashes of bright light and rumbles of drums
Voluminous skirts of grey rushes pass
Gushes of wind whooshes
Bringing up whirls of leaves
My hands shake from the wet and cold
Whilst standing at the taxi stand
Thinking of
Past footprints
And those to come
After the storm passes.