On early mornings, one might experience the occurrence of a type of low cloud. It settles as a fine mist that clings to the air below trees and escapes before high noon or by light of sun. During this phenomenon a spirit known as the aruiteiru kumo, walking cloud, is likely to mimic the appearance of the morning fog, and will travel unseen through it. It has no other purpose but to linger formless with the fog wherever it may go, as the autumn to sleep trees and the sky to rain. The aruitieru kumo omits a faint but sweet scent that is often compared to the smell of spring or rain to allure insects and animals to attach to on its journey. It might feel as though a is web clinging to your leg should one attach to you, but is such a gentle creature that it can be easily carried away with the breeze and in follow of the fog again.
Less gentle are the melteme “the bad tempered ones” which reside in the high northern winds. They are a fervent sort of spirit that leap from their lay in the sky and down onto the ground below, often taking with them anything or anyone in their way.They begin this journey overseas where they play with ships and tip sails on their sides, then blow to shore, tumbling animals from their planes some hundred meters away, and escape over a mountains edge where they might sweep a torrent of snow onto an unsuspecting village. They carry on this way riding on the backs of gales over the course of seas and land until they trip into some dusty valley where they slither with uncertainty until they coil up and die with naught but a sigh to the air. But the melteme can be more comedic than tragic, occasionally lifting up girls skirts or carrying a straw hat off a sleeping man’s head into a nearby tree, giggling their last moments with bellies up to a burning sun.
But ever should the two spirits meet would be a terrible thing. For though tame the aruiteiru kumo may be they cannot contend with the melteme. As when high and low winds collide, the two spirits twain in a rage of wind and rival. They argue and match one another, convulse between land and sky, and twist into scrolling storm. Their contest cowers creatures tall and breaks the sound wood yielding. They cry their whipping whines and howls low into the air, waking great spirits from their slumber, and calling them forth until answered in accord.
When I was still just a girl I had the misfortune of meeting one of these fell creatures. Not yet of age to marry, I had been running barefoot in nightgown through my father’s pastures. I would often tarry here on late summer days while I awaited his return with the cattle from the tall grassed land. But day would be fading soon and I had not yet spied the cattle over the distant fields. I continued to wander some time longer when I caught the perfume of the stirring season blowing about me followed by a gentle tugging of the hairs on my legs. Aruiteiru kumo? I wondered, placing one hand a ledge my brow and scrutinized the height of the setting sun. Over the horizon I spied my father urging the cattle along. He cursed under his breath as the herds slowing pace came to a stop, dog nor brawn stirring their hooves again. Then the sky began to darken and the cattle lay down.
A veil swept across the clouds from opposite the horizon to the farthest reach of sky. The ground grew shadowed and cool with damp breath in the air. From the grass, this dew began to froth and swell until a fine steam lit all the hills in white. I could see not but a few feet in front of me as welts of cloud boiled and swayed about. As the vapor churned, a foul stench fermented from the overwhelming scent of sweet spring. The odor sickened me and it began to phlegm my throat. I choked until my head grew light and I willowed to the ground with clammy hands cupped to my mouth. I watched this way in stiff terror as the walking clouds rose and began to dance around me with almost teasingly light steps where as I folded on the ground. They no longer gently tugged at my hair but instead each pulled and quarreled for a strand causing it to swim as they clung to me for life. I pressed to see with glass eyes fixated for escape from within their fuming cloud.
As the land smoked white, the sky grew dim, and the two spirits did collide. A course wind blew from above that punctured the aruiteiru kumo and carried them aloft. In exchange for this blow the walking clouds would pinch down a near melteme and suffocate it beneath their hold. They struggled and strained back and forth until of them wove a contorting storm.
From this formed a low wide column where the spirits mingled from ground to cloud, and I caught in between as a bead at the bottom of their bale. They writhed and tore at one another, releasing deafening pitches and thundering groans. They cried into the open air and awaited for answer, and they were answered.
In a flash of white the funnel lit from within, and with this new presence it was given life. The storm now moved with conscience and step for at its center rose a turbulent spirit. In the eye of the storm stood a woman wearing nought but her skin a slippery black and her eyes concealed in a beam of cool light. With the tilt of her elbows rose the walking clouds and with the gather of her fingers she spun the threads of melteme. With each step her feet were firm with the ground and strode easily, unencumbered by the weight of the storm upon her shoulders. She conjured clouds and woke winds that thrashed violently about the sky.
I now lay with my belly plastered to the ground, soaking my gown in thin grime thrown from silt of the air. Over my ears I placed two trembling hands, buried my elbows in the mud of freshly smashed grass, and propped the weight of my throbbing head atop tired limbs. I stayed this way in hope that the storm might mistake my position for part of the land and roll by without notice, but this did fail. The apparition paraded her spin of spirits ever near, and i dreadfully exposed in the open field, cowered beneath the weight of their wool blanket. Sticks and brush lashed at my bare skin and tangled in my hair. My nose ran of suity pepper and slip fell in streams from my eyes. Wind filled my tired breath and I gasped from lungs inflated too long, clenched my jaw, and spat grit from my teeth. I squinted through dust caked eyelashes and furrowed my brow, flinching at each graceful step closer of the spirit until she was upon me. I flung my hands from my ears, the wind’s whispers rushing through me once more, and grabbed handfuls of beaten grass in effort to anchor myself to the ground. Yet upon seeing my struggle to witch showed mercy, and with the lower of her chin, I stayed.
The cloud conjurer edged closer, her eye fixing me where I lay until I was sprawled before her. But for all of the temper, the eye of the storm was calm. Once in the full of her presence I found her company even more overwhelming than the storm surrounding. She was severe yet still, demanding and understanding. She had the force of storms at her fingertips and a still stride within. For in all of her thundering power displayed, she held patient conversation with the spirits.She gave each melteme her undivided attention and heard every grievance of the aruiteiru kumo. The great apparition pacified their protests and convinced the spirits of new intention. They rose and fell at her command, accompanying her on her pilgrimage. She shared with each her power and with her they shared purpose. She walked in the midst of such destruction, and yet, remained silent and knowing.
When the curtain of the storm began to draw back over my shoulders, the silence was again interrupted by the growing tremor of pebbles into a panting gust. But upon her leave I did not fear the storm on the other side nor was I moved by it. I sat upright while cloud tossed about me and was consoled in its security. I held my breath and was not suffocated, I opened my eyes and was not blinded, and though the wind hummed in my ears I was not deafened but instead heard reassuring verse. I no longer shrank at the sight of her authority, but instead shared in a peaceful venerance.
