Forecast Intuition

Diffused, and lifted.
I curve around the turns.
I escape every entry.
And leave every exit.

You can chase me.
You won't find me.

Up, away and in the clouds.
Silver streaming, silence grown loud.

Rain has become your favourite mirror,
winter approaching, sooner, quicker.

And in the downpour,
You hit head on collision.

No gold came from the treasure.