Grass yards aren't all that natural. I know that. They can be a pain to maintain. I've done that; I spent several summers in Virginia getting the sprinklers going early in the morning, at the time when watering does the most good and the day's heat isn't going to send the water into the air instead of the ground. I've done plenty of mowing and raking. And I've done it on much bigger lawns than this. (I am reminding myself that I will have a hand in maintaining this house's yard.) They are work. But they can be comforting.
The yard behind the studio apartment? Not comforting. Brownish, mostly dirt and rock with some long-worn-out mulch here and there. Despite the people who bought the building during my stay there doing some nice modifications -- decorative frames above and around picnic tables, a landscaped path -- I barely went there except to get to the rock-strewn parking area. (I did go there in earlier years, as if I found it more inviting BEFORE the new owners made those changes.) It was a place to go through, not to go to.
Now there's a backyard I can go to. As I've said more than once lately, it's the little things.
This entry is brought to you by a nice day. And is being written not in the backyard, though I could do that, but on the front porch. Which is also nice to have.