I'm out on the lawn watching a hundred typewriters soaked in green paint

It being something of the zeitgeist- and I'm all about contributing to the spirit of the age- I decided to pursue some turf change I can believe in. So I ripped up the front yard, filled in some hollows with dirt from the patio excavation, and planted grass seed. I felt like Blind Bim shaving the earth dry and regaining some of the Lost Farm.

(I especially liked the 19th C yeoman's tool used to remove the old sod. The Maine Woods Thoreau essays I've been reading put me in the proper mood to slave away on that implement that resembles a medieval torture device. )