a deft wind kicks up against my body like the heft of a boot, or the way you encounter a thrusting wave at the shores in a roiling ocean.
the icy winds slip inside every bit that isn't covered up. frozen ghostly fingers filled with malcontent slipping their way into your warm pockets.
looking up, you see the warm glowing glow of a small army, stoic, at attention, and unaware of your plight. or maybe they do care, and have to remain at the ready for matters more dire than issues of shifting temperature.
in any case, they do not move, and you grow colder and colder. each moment is like you're slipping into the darkness of the inside of a glacier slowly creeping up and over your entirety.
the streets whistle and moan with whipping gales, and behind you the clacking of an open doorway slams against a fence with the ferocity of the end of the world.
wear proper attire for the shifting atmosphere.