The thunderstorm has a Japanese name “kaminari” that strangely sounds very beautiful to me. I am not so good with writing the pronunciation in English, but I would say it is pronounced like ka=car mi=me na=nah ri=ree(se).
Back when I was living in Russia, I always had an image that first, you see the lighting, then you hear the thunder, and then will come the rain. Somehow, in Japan, when you hear that there will be a thunderstorm, in reality, all you get are flashes of lightning, even without thunder! I also realised, that in the place I lived flashes of lightning always were going from sky to the ground, but here in Japan they often go parallel to the ground and don’t really touch it. That is my little research on Japanese kaminari 🙂
Yesterday, there was a strong thunderstorm. The flashes were so bright that I felt like that cat in the Whiskas CM: “day-night, day-night”.
At first, it was usual “just flashes”, but then the thunder came. It was that reverberating sound of a hundred of huge wooden blocks falling on the parquet floor that I hadn’t heard in a while. And I, like every other Russian person I guess, remembered the piece of poetry that I’ve learned when I was in school: “Люблю грозу в начале мая…”, although it is not the May now 🙂
Somehow, I felt the rain coming. The sudden change of wind that became cool, the flashes of lightning that started pointing to the ground… Around me, people were just slowly walking to their homes, without umbrellas. But something inside me said, you need to run, or you will be wet to the skin. And I ran 🙂 Guess, people around thought that the crazy foreign girl likes to run in the evening when it is 32 degrees XD
Two minutes after I’ve got home it started raining cats and dogs.
P.S. The English translation of the poem
A Spring Storm
I love a thunderstorm in May
When here the first spring’s early thunder,
As though a joyful part of a play,
Roars in the blue sky in its grandeur.
Being strong and young, it’s thundering,
Look, rain has started, dust is flying,
The rainy pearls have hung as strings,
The sun is gilding threads by smiling.
A stream runs quickly down the hill,
The birds of wood don’t cease songs’ wonders,
And whistle from wood and sound of rill
Both gaily echo to the thunders…
It’s carefree Hebe, you may say,
When feeding Zeus’s noble eagle,
Below her on the earth’s huge tray
Has spilt a cup, it makes her giggle.