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158
Adventures in Contentment
·
David Grayson
53
Of
all
hours
of
the
day
there
is
none
like
the
early
morning
for
downright
good
odours--the
morning
before
eating.
Fresh
from
sleep
and
unclogged
with
food
a
man's
senses
cut
like
knives.
The
whole
world
comes
in
upon
him.
A
still
morning
is
best,
for
the
mists
and
the
moisture
seem
to
retain
the
odours
which
they
have
distilled
through
the
night.
Upon
a
breezy
morning
one
is
likely
to
get
a
single
predominant
odour
as
of
clover
when
the
wind
blows
across
a
hay
field
or
of
apple
blossoms
when
the
wind
comes
through
the
orchard,
but
upon
a
perfectly
still
morning,
it
is
wonderful
how
the
odours
arrange
themselves
in
upright
strata,
so
that
one
walking
passes
through
them
as
from
room
to
room
in
a
marvellous
temple
of
fragrance,
(I
should
have
said,
I
think,
if
I
had
not
been
on
my
way
to
dig
a
ditch,
that
it
was
like
turning
the
leaves
of
some
delicate
volume
of
lyrics!)
So
it
was
this
morning.
As
I
walked
along
the
margin
of
my
field
I
was
conscious,
at
first,
coming
within
the
shadows
of
the
wood,
of
the
cool,
heavy
aroma
which
one
associates
with
the
night:
as
of
moist
woods
and
earth
mould.
The
penetrating
scent
of
the
night
remains
long
after
the
sights
and
sounds
of
it
have
disappeared.
In
sunny
spots
I
had
the
fragrance
of
the
open
cornfield,
the
aromatic
breath
of
the
brown
earth,
giving
curiously
the
sense
of
fecundity--a
warm,
generous
odour
of
daylight
and
sunshine.
Down
the
field,
toward
the
corner,
cutting
in
sharply,
as
though
a
door
opened
(or
a
page
turned
to
another
lyric),
came
the
cloying,
sweet
fragrance
of
wild
crab-apple
blossoms,
almost
tropical
in
their
richness,
and
below
that,
as
I
came
to
my
work,
the
thin
acrid
smell
of
the
marsh,
the
place
of
the
rushes
and
the
flags
and
the
frogs.
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