Once there was a town in the countryside, surrounded by a forest of tall, beautiful trees. Their trunks were straight and strong, and without imperfection.
In the depths of the forest was a twisted, stunted tree. Its trunk bent and knobbly.
"This tree is useless", observed the lumberjack. "Its wood is not strong enough to hold up a house, nor straight enough to fashion machinery."
The town grew, and trees were cut more swiftly than they regrew. The forest shrank, year by year.
The lumberjack found himself trudging through the forest of stumps and dust, on a hot summer's day. His legs were sore, and his shirt stuck to his skin. He became dizzy.
Desperate for relief, he hurried to the nearest shade he could find. He sat down beneath the gnarled, twisted tree.
Its form, twisted and splayed, cast a wider shadow than its brothers. Shorter than the other trees, the shadow it cast was blacker and colder. When all the straighter, stronger trees were cut down for wood, it was left standing.
He observed: "This is the most useful tree that has grown in this forest".
There is nothing more perfect than imperfection.
There is nothing more valuable than that which cannot be created on purpose, cannot be modelled, and cannot be optimised.
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3 weeks, 1 day ago
12 Aug 2025 08:48 CEST
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