Last week I went to Tokyo. For three days--a short stay for flying fourteen hours each way. But oh was it worth it, ever so worth it. Spring was in full force in the Japanese capital, and though I just missed the peak of cherry blossom season, I enjoyed the warm weather and clear skies that were welcome after rainy grey New York. Tokyo was so clear, in fact, 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 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, 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.