As I finished mowing the grass the other day, it hit me that something about a freshly mowed lawn strikes me as beautiful.
It's not the feeling of accomplishment - that's certainly present, but there's something different going on there too. Something like an appreciation of beauty. Something in a primitive, visceral part of my brain.
It probably hearkens back to humanity's origins on the savannah, when primitive man first created the lawnmower (aka a domesticated sheep?).
I don't know what or why. I just know I really like looking at the grass after I cut it.