Typhoon Shan-Shan had been approaching Japan for a few days, working its way northwards along the Asian mainland. By the time it passed over Fukuoka it was much weaker, but still considered the worst storm in many years.
I live on the 8th floor, which overlooks a set of paddy fields, and then a built-up town between there and the facing hills. I went out on our balcony to watch the storm draw in. The sky was full of bulky white clouds, but underneath them raced sharp black whisps. The wind had a warmth that I’ve never felt in England; like a hair dryer at arm’s length. Clouds could be seen flying in five different directions at once. Rain was only occasional, but when it came it was flung onto the balcony with such force that it stung my face. I had to prop the window open so I didn’t get locked out on the balcony, and hold it shut with an outstretched arm so it didn’t slam and shatter in the wind. As the wind got stronger it became more and more difficult to hold it shut, so I had to press the weight of my body against it. Given that I was on a circular wind trap on the 8th floor, it seemed time to go back inside.
Over the next couple of hours I could hear the storm worsening outside, and my ears popped from the pressure change. Cambridge House is a large modern building, and locked up safe inside it would have been easy to forget about Shan-Shan but for the wind bashing against the windows. So I went for a walk with Dave and Graeme.
Once we got out the door it was clear that though strong, the wind had died down a bit, and was nowhere near full Typhoon speed. It was nighttime, but the distant glow of lightning and cold artificial light from the petrol station lit up the paddy fields. The rice was dark in silhouette, but when the wind turned it over it showed pale green. Plastic bags flew hundreds of metres in seconds. The cicadas strained to be heard above the shrieking and humming fence. The wind washed through swathes of rice, and scooped water from the pools and scattered it like seed. The neat lines of paddy field no longer spoke of rural peace and order; now their strict edges became token boundaries, desperately trying to contain a chaotic lake of billowing rice.
Between gusts it was calm, but when the wind blew it was strong enough to lean into, though never enough to blow me off my feet. It was beautiful and exhilarating; a tiny glimpse of power much greater than my own puny self, though it never fully exerted itself.
Honestly, I'm happy with a glimpse for now.
