If I had my way, our lawn would be be sown with rye grass and left long, so the sweeping, spiraling, capricious winds would become visible by the very tracks they leave as they dance through the graceful leaves.

If I had my way.

But I don’t, because society has deemed neatly mowed lawns to be desirable and legally required. Plus, grass shies away from the heavy, heavy clay that underpins our property. Not until summer shoves its way into the picture is our lawn finally green … with clover, red to breathe nitrogen into the soil and white to dot the lawn with color and feed the bees; tall spikey plantain, good for drying and concocting salve for whatever ails you; and tiny yellow and purple flowers yet unidentified.

I love them all, but red clover most of all.

If I had my way, our lawn would consist of beneficial plants and wild-eyed flowers that support bunnies and bees, long-legged deer and swiftly silent field mice, earth-loving worms and butterflies and birds, not city ordinances and fertilizers and keeping up with the Joneses. I would root for the red clover to take over the inhospitable hill of clay left behind by our construction, unshorn, spreading with abandon and offering a feast for the eyes as well as nourishment for the wild things with which we share our property.

Come to think of it, we do have our way with the hill beside our house that rises to the wooded land beyond. We are simply letting it naturally reclaim and tend to the soil: a hill of clover humming with the sounds of bees.

I am so grateful for the ways in which nature compensates, and corrects, and returns the earth to sustenance without the aid of artificial anything.