Last week I went to Tokyo. For three days--a short stay considering I flew fourteen hours each way. But those three days were vastly appreciated: spring was in full force in the Japanese capital, and the city was so clear that from my window in the Grand Hyatt hotel I could see, 60 miles west of me, Mount Fuji in stately, gleaming white. The legendary peak towered far above its neighboring mountains, and crowned the city with a certainty of presence that made me feel happy to look at, like I'd achieved something in identifying it, noticing it, and nurtured a communion with it; had a companion in it. Glancing at each other over the heads of the city buildings, Mt. Fuji and I shared something secret through the vast emptiness between us; a tallness, a detachedness, a constancy that busy, bustling Tokyo did not have, temporary as the city was for me (three days!), and evoking fashion as it necessarily did by association with my work. The mountain, though, that was just there. Just earth, Nature, purity and timelessness, and I was glad, in my hotel room, to know it.