A bowl of soba noodles.  Some miso soup on the side. Oolong tea. And outside my window, if you slant your gaze just right, were the peaks of a mountain that peered up over the rooftops.

Shift it just a little more, and you can also see daikon simmering on the stove. The farmers nearby had passed some to me recently, and I intended to turn it from its stubborn, unyielding form to tender slices that melted in the mouth.