I Pity the Typhoon.

Ponchos for sale hang from the bus sign.

Hanoi, Vietnam – These days, the sun is but a passing bird.

Feeling the effects of Typhoon Kalmaegi hitting the Halong Bay area today, the city is reminiscent of a child’s Lite-Brite: pinpricks of colour set against a tableau of grey.

Bright orange fish swish in clear plastic bags hanging from racks perched atop rusty bicycles across the city.

Tinted tin roofs quilt a patchwork that blankets my sightlines and xe ôm – moto taxi – riders tuck under the backs of their drivers’ brightly coloured ponchos. They quickly become veering dots of dye set against the wet, grey pavement as drivers, too, fold all but their faces into their nylon bubbles.

Warm, tropical rains leave pencil sketches of Morse code on the horizon. With the winds, the trees join in on the Tai Chi practiced around the lakes.

Even the blocks-long flower market I pass every morning on my way to work is nearly abandoned and painted the colour of storms – but for the scattered petals consumed by puddles. Left to nature’s hand, faded umbrellas spin like tops.

As I sit for more than an hour waiting for a meeting to begin, it’s perhaps an apt metaphor.