Typhoon (台風 ) 21

Japan has been battered this summer.  The Kansai region (western Japan including Kyoto and Osaka prefectures) has been the most abused.  The gods are angry for some reason - earthquakes, floods, heatwaves and typhoons.  In ancient times something would have been done to appease them.  Prayers would have been said, fires lit, dances danced, processions processed.  In modern times we just suffer the assault.  We're too wise for invocation and ritual.

Typhoon 21 (or "Jebi" in Western meteorology) was well-hyped in the media before its debut.  "The most powerful typhoon in 25 years!"  It began like any other typhoon.  Late in the morning on September 4th the winds began to blow and the rain began to fall.  It quickly grew into something more violent and frightening.

The rain stopped "falling" in the traditional, gravitational direction.  Instead it was whipped sideways in wide, vicious sheets.  This horizontal rain lashed my windows with such force it seemed to be coming from a water cannon, and the volume was so great my apartment appeared to be submerged in water, a sort of reverse aquarium.

The wind was totally indecisive, like a drunk in a brawl, lunging forward then back then right then left.  It shook not just my windows but interior walls, the whole building trembled.  We've all seen "The Wizard of Oz" and a dozen other films featuring hurricanes.  Objects unhinged from somewhere began flying past my window.  Not just leaves and twigs, not a plastic shopping bag dancing in the wind, but large debris, things normally attached to buildings, were hurtling through the silver sky like busted arrows from a crazed archer.

Outside, all around, I could hear things breaking, the sound of an impetuous, angry child on a rampage.  I waited for the roof to tear off.

This went on for several hours.  My tension grew.  I poured myself a beer.  I watched.  I listened.

Eventually things stopped flying, things stopped breaking.  The storm passed just before dusk and an eerie stillness fell across the city.  The fury and havoc of the previous hours seemed almost a dream.

Looking for Autumn

I went to Uji in search of Autumn.  I knew her number wasn't for another couple of weeks.  Still, I thought I might find her backstage preparing, warming up for the start of her show.

I walked along the river for a long time.  The water was green and cool.  But I could see only the white burn of the Summer sun across its surface.

I crossed the Amagase Bridge, wood and cable bound together in an unlikely friendship.  Autumn wasn't on the bridge.

I cut into the forest, a narrow path, muddy from a rain long forgotten.  I thought for sure I'd find her here, maybe with a large block of ice and a fan rehearsing an October breeze.  It was warm and moist in there like a kiss with the tongue after a cup of tea.  The forest was throbbing with the heat.  Autumn is a classy dame; she wouldn't stand for this vulgarity.

I left the forest and wandered back to town and the train slightly embarrassed by my foolish endeavour.  Autumn wasn't even in the theatre, let alone on stage.  An overeager fan.