 So I kept following the trail back to the parking lot, at the beginning of which, leaning against a birch tree, was a perfect walking stick. I picked it up. Sturdy, straight enough, not too heavy, a good height, I bet, for most people. And lying at that stick's feet, I saw a few others, a little stouter or crookeder, not quite as perfect, though perfect's a dumb idea, don't you think?