I rolled them around in my hand and examined them. Each stone had its own look and personality. I marvelled at the shades of grey, the calico browns and the mottled reds, and I noticed how some sparkled. I held big stones and small stones and teeny-tiny stones. Some were long and slender, while others sat roundly in my palm. None were perfect or shiny spherical marbles. A collection of dull, odd, jagged shapes sat in my hand.
Each imperfect stone could be easily dismissed by itself, but collectively they make my perfect path. Each individual imperfection fit perfectly with the other imperfections to do the job: perfect imperfection.
Kind of like people, I think. None of us perfect, but all of us perfect together.