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158
Adventures in Contentment
·
David Grayson
80
Do
not
think
that
I
understood
the
meaning
of
those
passages:
I
am
not
vain
enough
to
think
I
know
even
now--but
the
sound
of
them,
the
roll
of
them,
the
beautiful
words,
and
above
all,
the
pictures!
Those
Daughters
of
Music,
how
I
lived
for
days
imagining
them!
They
were
of
the
trees
and
the
hills,
and
they
were
very
beautiful
but
elusive;
one
saw
them
as
he
heard
singing
afar
off,
sweet
strains
fading
often
into
silences.
Daughters
of
Music!
Daughters
of
Music!
And
why
should
they
be
brought
low?
Doors
shut
in
the
street--how
I
saw
them--a
long,
long
street,
silent,
full
of
sunshine,
and
the
doors
shut,
and
no
sound
anywhere
but
the
low
sound
of
the
grinding:
and
the
mill
with
the
wheels
drowsily
turning
and
no
one
there
at
all
save
one
boy
with
fluttering
heart,
tiptoeing
in
the
sunlit
doorway.
And
the
voice
of
the
bird.
Not
the
song
but
the
voice.
Yes,
a
bird
had
a
voice.
I
had
known
it
always,
and
yet
somehow
I
had
not
dared
to
say
it.
I
felt
that
they
would
look
at
me
with
that
questioning,
incredulous
look
which
I
dreaded
beyond
belief.
They
might
laugh!
But
here
it
was
in
the
Book--the
voice
of
a
bird.
How
my
appreciation
of
that
Book
increased
and
what
a
new
confidence
it
gave
me
in
my
own
images!
I
went
about
for
days,
listening,
listening,
listening--and
interpreting.
So
the
words
of
the
preacher
and
the
fire
in
them:
Marker
Marker
Fine marker
White-out
Fine white-out
Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
Start over
