Late in the afternoon at San Felipe Pueblo the mesa lays its shadow out across the bottomland, the heat lets go, and cut grass smells strong enough to taste. This is country built on long distances — river, cottonwoods, the Jemez skyline going violet — which is exactly what makes one kept green yard land the way it does. So the lawn is cut even and level, the edges get a real line instead of a suggestion, the trimmer works in tight where the mower has to leave off, and weeds come out of the beds and the rock. Shrubs get a trim that keeps their shape intact. Then the clippings are loaded, the walk is swept, and the place is handed back in better order than it was found.