A windy afternoon on Skólavörðustígur in Reykjavík

A photorealistic candid street photograph shot from partway up Skólavörðustígur in Reykjavík, from about six meters away at chest height, on a grey blustery afternoon.
A woman has just come around the corner into the full force of a gale and been caught by it. One hand clamps down on her wool hat, the other grips a paper bakery bag that the wind has lifted almost horizontal, the paper stretched taut and deformed, the top edge flapping open. Her hair whips straight sideways out from under the hat in a single direction. Her coat is pressed flat against her front and ballooning behind. She is leaning into the wind at a clear angle, mid-stride, face screwed up against it, mouth half open, eyes narrowed. She is not amused and she is not stopping.
Behind her the street runs uphill, painted in the broad rainbow stripes that cover the asphalt, the colors slightly worn at the centre where traffic has passed over them, wet and reflective from an earlier shower so each stripe doubles into a soft smear of color on the surface. At the top of the hill Hallgrímskirkja rises, its pale concrete flanks stepping up toward the tower, clearly recognizable in shape and slightly softened by the grey weather.
Further up the street, a tourist has turned side-on to the wind trying to photograph the church with a phone held up in one hand, and has just lost hold of a folded paper map with the other. The map is mid-air a meter from his fingers, half unfolded, already twisting and going. He has started to reach after it with his phone hand and has not yet decided which of the two things matters more.
Nobody else is on the street. Low grey cloud is moving fast overhead. The colored houses on both sides are the typical Reykjavík corrugated metal in mustard, teal and faded red, their roofs dark and wet, a few shopfronts shuttered against the weather.
Flat bright overcast light, no shadows, cold and even, the whole scene lit by a white sky. The wet rainbow stripes and the pale church are the brightest things in the frame.
Shot at 35mm f/4, ISO 400, 1/1000s on a mirrorless camera. The fast shutter freezes the woman's flying hair, the horizontal bakery bag, the tourist's escaping map and the woman's airborne foot. She is tack-sharp, the tourist and the church are acceptably sharp, the far end of the street softens slightly.
The palette is the cold grey of an Icelandic sky over the saturated painted stripes of the street, with mustard and teal house fronts on either side and the woman's dark coat as the anchoring mass. No legible text anywhere, no shop signs, no lettering on the bakery bag, nothing readable on the map.
The composition puts the woman at the left third leaning hard into the wind with the bag at full horizontal extension, the rainbow street running up the center as a bold receding line, and the church at the top center with the tourist and his departing map at the right third. The eye catches the horizontal bag first, follows the stripes up the hill, and finds a second person losing a different thing to the same gust. The mood is dry and affectionate: a city where the weather regularly takes something from everyone on the street at once.