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158
Adventures in Contentment
·
David Grayson
22
"See
here,"
he
said,
"how
different
the
character
of
these
individuals.
They
are
all
of
the
same
species.
They
all
grow
along
this
fence
within
two
or
three
rods;
but
observe
the
difference
not
only
in
size
but
in
colouring,
in
the
shape
of
the
petals,
in
the
proportions
of
the
cone.
What
does
it
all
mean?
Why,
nature
trying
one
of
her
endless
experiments.
She
sows
here
broadly,
trying
to
produce
better
cone-flowers.
A
few
she
plants
on
the
edge
of
the
field
in
the
hope
that
they
may
escape
the
plow.
If
they
grow,
better
food
and
more
sunshine
produce
more
and
larger
flowers."
So
we
talked,
or
rather
he
talked,
finding
in
me
an
eager
listener.
And
what
he
called
botany
seemed
to
me
to
be
life.
Of
birth,
of
growth,
of
reproduction,
of
death,
he
spoke,
and
his
flowers
became
sentient
creatures
under
my
eyes.
And
thus
the
sun
went
down
and
the
purple
mists
crept
silently
along
the
distant
low
spots,
and
all
the
great,
great
mysteries
came
and
stood
before
me
beckoning
and
questioning.
They
came
and
they
stood,
and
out
of
the
cone-flower,
as
the
old
professor
spoke,
I
seemed
to
catch
a
glimmer
of
the
true
light.
I
reflected
how
truly
everything
is
in
anything.
If
one
could
really
understand
a
cone-flower
he
could
understand
this
Earth.
Botany
was
only
one
road
toward
the
Explanation.
Always
I
hope
that
some
traveller
may
have
more
news
of
the
way
than
I,
and
sooner
or
later,
I
find
I
must
make
inquiry
of
the
direction
of
every
thoughtful
man
I
meet.
And
I
have
always
had
especial
hope
of
those
who
study
the
sciences:
they
ask
such
intimate
questions
of
nature.
Theology
possesses
a
vain-gloriousness
which
places
its
faith
in
human
theories;
but
science,
at
its
best,
is
humble
before
nature
herself.
It
has
no
thesis
to
defend:
it
is
content
to
kneel
upon
the
earth,
in
the
way
of
my
friend,
the
old
professor,
and
ask
the
simplest
questions,
hoping
for
some
true
reply.
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