A Haiku on a Summer’s Evening

A long time ago, when I wore a name tag that I cherished very much, working as a missionary in a land that I loved very much, amongst people whom I adored very much, I sat sweating in a little apartment in Hachioji, after a hard day’s work, looking out the back sliding door into the dark of the summer night, eating soumen, listening to the cicada, and marveling at how perfect it all seemed to be. Then, I wrote a haiku in my head that I never wrote down until now:

汗をかき、While sweating,

素麺を食い、and eating soumen,

蝉の音。 the sound of the cicada.