Easter Monday at 9:30 a.m. the roar of the mowing machine breaks the otherwise still and lovely morning air with its loud and aggravating whine of blades leveling the grass next door, even if the lawn is still dormant from the long winter’s intense cold. Just as in the autumn long after the growing season ceases, the mower continues to earn his wages driving across the yard which is actually behind, not next to my home. I’d say there are more leaves than grass getting chewed off the top of his yard, but I certainly don’t ask. With a few more warm days the rest of the neighbors will follow his lead and the concert of cutting, grinding and chainsaw chorus will resume where snow blowers and plows left off. There is no real quiet anymore out of doors where people cultivate communities, just as there is very little real darkness in which to have a good view of stars without ambient light invading from businesses which line most main streets everywhere.