I live on a private school campus so across from my apartment, is a well-taken care of athletic field. It's endless the care this field receives; the midwifery of men using various machines (one of them, a hole stomper) and hybrid seeds to make it come back in the springtime, lush as Ireland, just for it to be stamped to bits by high schoolers playing lacrosse. It is the suburban Baltimore version of a Tibetan sand painting.
Speaking of sand painting, there was another machine piloted by yet another man on the field (it needs so many ministrations), that in fact did spew sand (doubtless, hugely special sand) across the freshly sprouting grass. I walked on it afterwards (I like sand paintings) and it was so plummy and bouncy, that I felt like rolling on it like a dog, dropping my head to the ground on it like the robins that constantly bow like Japanese businessmen saying thank you.