Summit empties eastward on the 7:12 and does not come back until dusk, which leaves the entire daylight in the hands of whoever is minding the lawns. Green Up spends it mowing, trimming close along walls and beds, edging the walks and carrying the clippings away. Autumn turns the work to leaves, hundreds of pounds of them, lifted off grass that needs the light. The measure of the day is arrival — someone steps off the platform, climbs the hill in the half-dark, and the yard is already finished. Nothing announced, nothing left behind.