空風

I love rainstorms and thunderstorms.

When I was young, I used to watch storms out my window at night. I loved sitting in bed, warm and curled up under my blankets, listening to the rain fall and the occasional rumble of thunder. I loved the way the lightning would, for just a moment, illuminate the wild dance of the trees in the storm. Somehow, while others would be scared, I was relaxed and enjoying the show.

Gunma doesn't have rainstorms the way Georgia does. There is a storm every so often, more so in summer than the other seasons, but they don't have the frequency or the duration of my Southern storms. Instead, Gunma lays claim to wind. It was one of the first things I heard when I arrived - 空風（からかぜ or "kara kaze"- made up from characters meaning sky/air/emptiness and wind), half of the famous description of Gunma prefecture: "Strong wind, strong women." While I don't know so much about the latter half - it tends to be a complaint of cuckolds - I will say that I've become a little too acquainted with the former. For example, I tend to not ride my bike during the winter months because walking seems easier and faster than battling with the wind. On the whole, I'm not a fan.

Tonight, however, I realized that I'm comforted by the sound of an intense wind blowing by my apartment building. Maybe it's the white noise quality of it, or just the feeling that, though Hell may be breaking loose outside, I am safe and cozy. Maybe it's an innate knowledge that battling with nature rarely lends itself to a happy end, and so instead I take comfort in accepting what comes.

But, for what it's worth, there are worse things than sitting at a kotatsu with green tea while kara kaze howls outside.