By daylight, as opposed to full moonlight, the lawn is a study in multiple layers, perhaps referencing the rice paddies that fly up into one's face upon descending upon the seaweed-rimmed, paddy-dense, plastic gadget-dense, and arid-in-parts country of Japan.
How.
Three boys, one bored girlfriend (with charming speech impediment) of one of the boys, two lawnmowers and one inattentive, weed-pulling adult (Yours Truly).
In a move to eradicate the Rube Goldberg miasma of the X (who should move to Tex), a new mower was purchased. Hip hip.
The boys complained of the shin-high blades of grass cutting them like hundreds of knives.
A glance from YT, over weeds. No blood, fine, just boy whines.
A glance over at the teens/kids to discover the bored girlfriend with her hands around the neck of the teen gangmember she's "dating," my pal, Andrew.
Back to weeds.

Weeding out loves no longer lovelorn.
Shorning love choking out perennials.

Love weeds.