“Would you care to dance,” said the tempest to the leaves; and dance they did, for they had no choice.

“Such grace and elegance in your movement,” sneered the tempest smugly, for his ego was strutting like a train-rattling peacock. “Of course,” he continued, “you do realise, don’t you, that you only move because of my power and might? Without me you would just rot on the ground; your dancing shoes would be redundant.” The leaves laughed mockingly at their tormentor.

“What’s so funny?” Demanded the tempest, feeling decidedly awkward and with his strutting reduced to no more than a distant memory. “Your foolishness is what’s so funny,” replied the leaves, trying and failing to suppress a snigger. Now the tempest was really rattled, “explain yourselves,” he demanded.

“Oh mighty windbag, foolish dancer, it is neither you nor us that moves. The only mover is consciousness and we are all but dancers in the mind of the observer.

Photo by Osman Arabacı: https://www.pexels.com/photo/autumn-leaves-falling-on-the-cobblestone-road-in-the-forest-19640865/