The gentle, swaying leaves on the tree, were indifferent to the uncontrollable bursts of physical energy happening over the mountainside. They just swayed back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Sometimes the dying leaves would sing in their whispery voice, then take the final leap - jumping off the tree and fading into black. But the leaves weren't phased, they were chill; like an easygoing Sunday on the beach, where one looses an icy-pole to the sand, but it just doesn't make any difference to the world; it just feeds the sand with some red sugary goodness... meanwhile the violent bursts of activity are forever happening over the mountainside.
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