Leave anything alone for three weeks in an Augusta midsummer and it starts making plans — the fence line thickens, the ditch bank leans in, kudzu tries the mailbox. Relief starts with the first cut, the one that takes a yard from unruly back to legible, and it is loud and slow and worth every minute. After that come the trim lines, the edges along the drive, and a clean sweep of the walks so the place reads finished rather than merely shorter. Then the easy part: keeping it on a rhythm so it never gets away again. Handing a yard back to somebody who had given up on it is a fine feeling on a hot afternoon.