There was an artist in the city of Kouroo who was disposed to strive after perfection. One day it came into his mind to make a staff. Having considered that in an imperfect work, time is an ingredient, but into a perfect work, time does not enter, he said to himself: It shall be perfect in all respects, though I should do nothing else in my life.

Henry David Thoreau

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Frank carries a staff with him on some of his walks. It was hardly crafted at all from a fallen branch in our forest sanctuary, being perfect in its natural form. It becomes more perfect all the time as Frank adds a natural patina from his handling of this tree, often admired by others he encounters on his walks.

We are perfect, and getting better all the time.