Suddenly, grass.

We're still adjusting to life without the tri-maple that came down in our front yard. Brighter sunlight outlines every spider web and dirt appearing on windows and trim. (So I'm washing the outside more often.) The hydrangeas are frying in the heat and direct light. (When they go dormant this winter, I'll move them to a shadier spot.) Tomatoes are greedily soaking up the sun's energy, producing a gracious bounty for BLT's and salsa. (I'll relocate the raised bed as well this winter, creating a decorative border in its new spot in the front yard.)

And grass is popping up everywhere.

Long dormant grass seed is finally getting much-needed moisture now that the maple's roots aren't soaking up every drop. We may actually have a lawn by next summer.

It'll be serendipity if we do, because I am not Lawn Woman. I don't love grass the way my dad did. Cutting the grass is simply a way to make the yard look tidy rather than part of an all-out assault on weeds and bare patches. I love the smell of newly cut grass, and appreciate the green. But weeds are green, too. And they all blend together when they're cut, into one green canvas over the hard-packed clay.

(I also view grass cutting as exercise, mowing at a near run to see how quickly I can finish the front and back. I bet my neighbors get a kick out of the sight.)

Found this ... Looks way more fun than my cranky lawn beast.