Up the Santa Fe Canyon on an August morning there is more sound than anywhere else in town — water moving below the trail, the whir of hummingbirds working the penstemon, wind coming down the ridge through the pines. GardenSong Santa Fe keeps yards in that upper-canyon country, where gardens run right up against the preserve. Mowing is set to a height that suits thin air and short mornings, the edges left soft where turf meets native ground, shrubs trimmed for light and airflow, the beds cleared of what the season has dropped. A garden this close to the canyon ought to sound like it belongs to the canyon, which means leaving what should be left and cutting only what wants cutting. By ten the birds have quieted and the yard is standing tidy in the light.