First light on Castle Pines comes over the ridge in slow degrees, gold on the ponderosa long before it ever reaches the grass. Alpine, Inc. starts there, mowers running while the air off the pines still holds its cold and the tree shadows lie long across the yards. At sixty-four hundred feet the turf asks for patience: it greens late, it burns fast, and it rewards anyone willing to read it week by week. Edges get cut clean along the walks, clippings swept back off the concrete, the strip by the mailbox trimmed as carefully as the middle of the lawn. By the time the sun clears the trees along Monarch Boulevard the work is finished and the day belongs to the people who live there.