Leaves Go Flip Flop

It's raining here. Lovely wintry rain. The leaves have all turned yellow and red and golden and have begun to fall, flip-flop, flip-flop to the ground. Umbrellas are turning inside out defiantly under the grey skies as the wind gusts. The wet wood of the bare tree trunks is strong and solid and brown, with finger tips pointing like arthritic hands. Ttttttt, go my lips out in the cold. My toes curl for warmth, as I stare down at my reflection in a puddle in the street. Cars go past swish, swish. I pulled my collar up, with a shiver and feel alive. One foot in front of the other, splish splash.