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158
Adventures in Contentment
·
David Grayson
16
How
sweet
an
emotion
is
possession!
What
charm
is
inherent
in
ownership!
What
a
foundation
for
vanity,
even
for
the
greater
quality
of
self-respect,
lies
in
a
little
property!
I
fell
to
thinking
of
the
excellent
wording
of
the
old
books
in
which
land
is
called
"real
property,"
or
"real
estate."
Money
we
may
possess,
or
goods
or
chattels,
but
they
give
no
such
impression
of
mineness
as
the
feeling
that
one's
feet
rest
upon
soil
that
is
his:
that
part
of
the
deep
earth
is
his
with
all
the
water
upon
it,
all
small
animals
that
creep
or
crawl
in
the
holes
of
it,
all
birds
or
insects
that
fly
in
the
air
above
it,
all
trees,
shrubs,
flowers,
and
grass
that
grow
upon
it,
all
houses,
barns
and
fences--all,
his.
As
I
strode
along
that
afternoon
I
fed
upon
possession.
I
rolled
the
sweet
morsel
of
ownership
under
my
tongue.
I
seemed
to
set
my
feet
down
more
firmly
on
the
good
earth.
I
straightened
my
shoulders:
this
land
was
mine.
I
picked
up
a
clod
of
earth
and
let
it
crumble
and
drop
through
my
fingers:
it
gave
me
a
peculiar
and
poignant
feeling
of
possession.
I
can
understand
why
the
miser
enjoys
the
very
physical
contact
of
his
gold.
Every
sense
I
possessed,
sight,
hearing,
smell,
touch,
led
upon
the
new
joy.
At
one
corner
of
my
upper
field
the
fence
crosses
an
abrupt
ravine
upon
leggy
stilts.
My
line
skirts
the
slope
halfway
up.
My
neighbour
owns
the
crown
of
the
hill
which
he
has
shorn
until
it
resembles
the
tonsured
pate
of
a
monk.
Every
rain
brings
the
light
soil
down
the
ravine
and
lays
it
like
a
hand
of
infertility
upon
my
farm.
It
had
always
bothered
me,
this
wastage;
and
as
I
looked
across
my
fence
I
thought
to
myself:
Marker
Marker
Fine marker
White-out
Fine white-out
Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
Start over
