lawn

In 2007, a Dorset man brought a lawn statute featuring a recognizable Egyptian headdress to an expert for evaluation.

A yellow hazardous material bin placed out on the lawn, just beyond some red tape reading “Danger Do Not Enter,” left no doubt.

So say the Secret Service nabs him on the lawn, in plain sight of tourists with cameras.

On the porch, before I go, Peterson looks at me through the lens of a small digital camera before training it on his front lawn.

She was married with three kids and had settled into a tidy one-story house with a good sized lawn in Ferguson.

Davy looked around and saw an old man coming toward them across the lawn.

She lit another cigarette, and for a few moments looked silently out of the window at the darkening woods beyond the lawn.

For he saw her looking up into his eyes as once before on the lawn of her English bungalow four months ago.

Nancy Watling deigned no reply to his farewell salutation, but walked indignantly across her moon-lighted lawn.

It had windows opening down to the lawn, and was full of pretty things, works and knick-knacks.