I'm only leaving you for a handful of days, but it feels as though I'll be gone forever— the way the door closes behind me with such solidity, the way my suitcase carries everything I'd need for an eternity of traveling light. I've left my hotel number on your desk, instructions about the dog and heating
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In the Happo-En Garden, Tokyo
The way a birthmark on a woman’s face defines rather than mars her beauty, so the skyscrapers— those flowers of technology— reveal the perfection of the garden they surround. Perhaps Eden is buried here in Japan, where an incandescent koi slithers snakelike to the edge of the pond; where a black-haired Eve-san in the petalled folds of a kimono once showed her silken body to the sun, then picked a persimmon and with a small bow bit into it.