Two witty women re-own their kimonos, one's hair dyed to match her faux fur collar, the other a tonal study seems to be holding the bright point of the chrysanthemum on her wrap. I meet them coming out of the vintage kimono shop, myself carrying off silk that I later find cost a fraction of its giddy worth.  On the street, crossing the famous moon bridge, random flacks of snow blow in from the mountain.