Above Fondulac the ground flattens into field and fencerow, and in August the light over it turns gold about an hour before supper. Earth Cuts mows into that light: stripes laid straight, edges cut sharp along walk and drive, clippings blown off the concrete so the finish shows. When the year turns and those same routes go white, the work becomes plowing them open and putting down salt in the corners the sun never reaches. Two seasons, one map, the same stubbornness about where a line falls. There is honest pleasure in a lawn that looks intentional and a drive you can cross without thinking about your feet.