He reached for her. She realized with a sharp pang that this was the pinnacle of their love. Life was uncertain. Danger lurked in darkness. It would never be so perfect again. In the trees, a lone cicada sang a shrill note. A chorus replied. Matsuo Bashoˉ’s lines rose like silvery bubbles from the dark depth of his mind: The cry of the cicada Gives us no sign That presently it will die
