Late August in Wood River smells like cut grass and warm asphalt, and the cicadas start up over Central Park about the time the light turns gold. Evenings like that are the payoff: a yard finished, the mower ticking as it cools, the rows still readable from the sidewalk. DA's lawn services works the town's grid of bungalows and corner lots with mowing, trimming, tidy edges, and a blow-down of the walks and drive before leaving. Nothing elaborate in the description of it; everything in the execution. When the maples let go in October, the same care goes into hauling the leaves away.