There is a half hour in early June when the side streets off Third Avenue are still grey with dew and nothing moves but a sprinkler head ticking somewhere down the block. All Landscapes works Westwood in that window, while the grass is standing up and cuts clean. By the time the borough is properly awake the lawn is mowed, the edge runs true along the walk, and not a clipping is left on the drive. This is a small place folded into the Pascack Valley, oaks leaning over the sidewalks, every front yard read from the street whether anyone means to read it or not. Getting that read right — even color, honest lines, a sharp border at the curb — is the whole of it.