Wind gusts airborne detritus down toward Ichigaya-yanagicho, an intersection in central Tokyo infamous for having the highest density of carbon monoxide in Tokyo during the 1970s. Researchers at the time linked this poisonous gas to the area's high incidence of lung cancer, and the outcry from citizens helped stimulate stricter automobile emission standards in Japan. Today, thanks to wind, as well as the winds of change, the air seems pretty clear.

Ushigome-yanagicho, literally "Cow-Packed Willow Town," may seem an odd train station name, but it holds the keys to the area's greener history — Ushigome is believed to once have been bovine pastureland. In 1555, the area was acquired by Lord Ogo from Kozuke (present-day Gunma Prefecture). Ogo eventually adopted the area's name as his personal moniker and became Lord Ushigome. Even after the bovine farming ended, and people probably wondered "where's the beef?" Lord Ushigome's name lasted. By 1878, when Tokyo was divided during the Meiji Period, Ushigome was designated as a city ward, as was nearby Ichigaya-yanagi. After World War II, however, the city was divided once again, leading to the present division of Tokyo into 23 special wards. The old names would have disappeared if not cobbled together for use at intersections and train stations.

Heading west along a shadowed backstreet behind Okubo Avenue, I find neither livestock nor willows, but am shaken out of my wind stupor by frantic crying. Following the sound, I discover a cat at the gateway to a temple, yowling at full capacity. I approach, and the cat simply flops over in a patch of grass, his goal accomplished, apparently. Surely it's just a matter of suggestion, but this cat with black-spotted fur reminds me of nothing so much as the hide of a miniature Holstein cow.