``Beyond the summer clouds, the first anniversary''

Earlier this month, on the first anniversary of my mother's death last year, my uncle, who is my mother's younger brother, wrote this on colored paper, along with a light ink drawing, and placed it in front of the Buddha.

This is the haiku he gave me.

My mother and this uncle are half-sisters and are separated in age. My mother was 91 years old, but my uncle was in his early 70s (probably).

Still youthful.

I have fond memories of being loved very much when I was little.

He was good at haiku and ink paintings, and would give them to his mother at seasonal milestones.

He is always smiling, funny, and a fun person.

Such a person's casual yet sad poem.

That day, there were thunderclouds in the distant sky.

Because it was simple and casual, it became unforgettable.

Within the last year, three of my parents passed away one after another, albeit at an advanced age.

The wind increased by three thousand.

A cool autumn breeze reaches the forest.

Also today.
                                                                                          Shizu Hashimoto