The wind.
I always enjoy sitting out on my tree covered porch, where the sun paints irregular patterns of filtered light over everything and the wind shifts it here and there, like moving painting, never still. Frequently I found myself looking from my book at the massive trees above, swaying like they were no more than dandelions. The sound is one of an impressive magnitude too, and audible reminder of the wind's awesome power. Little seeds, leaves and broken twigs littered the porch, and me, with each gust, hitting the ground with a sound akin to rain. I was almost afraid to stay where I was lest something larger and considerably more formidable was forcibly removed from one of shivering towers. It's amazing to me that something you cannot see but can only feel is capable of so much.
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