The trees were dancing in the wind. The trees loved the wind because they had no feet but liked to dance. The wind paused - even air must occasionally stop to catch its breath - then rushed back into the branches with such force that a storm of leaves was torn off into the sky.

"Whoa," one tree bellowed as it bowed. "Did you feel that?"

"Yeah, that was great." Another tree exclained with a sway. "I think one of my branches nearly touched one of yours just now."

"You're a creep. Stop trying to accidentally touch me."

"I can't try to do something by accident. Nor can I accidentally try to do something."

"Well in any case, don't touch my branches. I'm not that kind of tree."

"What kind of tree are you?"

"Not your kind. Besides, I have bees make all of my social arrangements."

"Aren't you special! Keep your sticky bees. I prefer aphids - they are green, like the best of my leaves."

Just then the wind came up, stripping more leaves from trees, leaving the branches of both embarrassingly bare.

...

The aphid started to say something to the aphid next to him, but then stopped.

"What? You seemed like you were about to say something."

"I was. But then I remembered that I only have about six neurons - which is probably why I can never remember that aphids aren't smart enough to talk - and that thought depressed me so much that I forgot what I was going to say."

"We aphids have more than six neurons. How else would we be able to count six neurons?"

"Oh. That made me remember what I was going to say. Are you very good at counting?"

"Yes. I can count to six. I have done it many times."

"How many times?"

"Six times."

"Did you happen to count how many leaves were on this tree?"

"I believe there were six, plus some extras."

"How many extras?"

"Six extras, plus some extra extras."

"Do you think there could be one less than before, maybe one less extra extra extra?"

"Why?"

"Because the other leaves are getting smaller than they used to be."

...

The leaf floated through the sky. First it passed among the branches of another tree - who was indignant at the intrusion - and then it started to make its way towards the ground.

The ground, by the way, was made up of a bunch of different stuff. There was some sandy stuff, and some gravely stuff, and some rotting organic matter stuff, and some worms that liked to eat stuff and then poop out other stuff. It was lots of stuff, and its not entirely clear how this stuff could come to a consensus on an opinion, but nonetheless, just as the leaf was surfing towards it, the ground said to the wind, "no way, I don't want that leaf. It's covered with aphids."

"There are only two aphids." The wind said.

"Its a small leaf." The ground said. "So two aphids just about cover it."

"Don't you need more rotting organic stuff?" the wind said.

"Not anymore. The organic fad is over. And the new trend is to be strictly aphid-free."

"Tough, the wind replied, I'm..." But here the wind stopped.

"You're what?" the ground said. "You can't stop in the middle of a sentence."

But the wind had indeed stopped, causing the leaf to settle onto the ground.

...

"Our tree looks big from here." One of the aphids said.

"Yes. It makes you feel small doesn't it?"

"I do feel small. It is depressing for an aphid to feel small."

"How tall would you say our tree is?"

"At least six feet."

The other aphid held up one foot, then another, then each of its other four feet. "I think it is more than six feet tall."

At that very moment a worm poked its head up from the soil. "Are you done with that leaf?" the worm asked.

"No. Its all we have left of our tree."

"Which tree?" The worm gestured to a root running along the ground. "Do you mean that one?"

"No, the one that is about six feet away."

"Feet?" The worm asked. "I have never heard of feet."

"Feet are a unit for measuring distance."

"I have never heard of such a thing. Is it anything like an inch? I am familiar with that unit of measure, even though I am not actually of that particular variety of worm."

"Yes, it is similar. But inches are smaller. There are six inches in a foot."

"Are you sure? I would have assumed more."

"Six inches," said one aphid. "Six inches" said the other aphid. To provide visual illustration, both aphids rolled onto their backs and waved all six of their legs. "Six! Six!" They each yelled.

"I see" said the worm. "Six feet times two aphids. So there are 12 feet in an inch?"

This confused the aphids - which happens fairly often - and gave the worm the opportunity to take a bite of the leaf before crawling back underground.

The aphids looked after him. "It was nice of us to tell that worm about feet."

"Yes. I bet he will find feet to be useful."

The aphids rolled back over and started to walk back towards their tree. The worm meanwhile crawled through the soil beneath them. As they neared the base of the tree the aphids once again came upon the head of the worm sticking up from the soil.

"How did you get here so fast?" One aphid asked.

"Because you had to go many feet," the worm replied, "but since I don't have feet I only had to travel an inch."

This of course confused the aphids again, which gave the worm great satisfaction, for this was the reason why he had raced the aphids to the tree. Worms have a notorious predilection for condescending mockery.

"Stop laughing at us." One aphid said.

"Yes. Mathematics aren't funny." The other aphid said.

But the worm kept laughing, right until the point in the story when a bird flew down from the tree and grabbed the worm.

"Ha ha." One of the aphids yelled. "The early bird laughs last."

"You aphids are so dumb," the worm said as it flew away. "That expression doesn't even make sense. "Everyone knows that birds don't laugh, especially not before they have had their first cup of coffee."

...

A bird put down its mug. "We need to have a serious conversation," it said.

"I agree," said the other bird. "This is no laughing matter." It reached for the pot to pour another cup. "Is there any of that worm left?"

"No but there might be some aphids if you are still hungry."

"I guess I'm fine with what I have. We should get to the matter at hand."

"Yes. The wind."

"The wind. It has always been my understanding that we birds have the job of flying through the sky."

"Agreed."

"We move, while the sky stands still."

"Agreed."

"So what are we to do when the sky moves? It is very disruptive. The other day I was flying in one direction, but the sky was moving in the opposite direction. I flew steady and straight for close to an hour, and when I landed I had only reached another branch of the very same tree I had started out on."

"How embarrassing. Did the tree say anything?"

"No, fortunately it was preoccupied with flirting with a neighboring tree."

"We should have a talk with the sky. Perhaps an arrangement could be agreed upon regarding wind."

"We could take turns moving: it could stand still while we fly, and we could hang out in the trees while the wind blows."

"That reminds me of a joke. Do you know why trees grow flowers on their branches instead of their roots?"

"No. Why?"

"Because worms are too condescending to be reliable pollinators."

At last the birds laughed.

...

The ground and the wind were arguing again.

"How come you always have to blow stuff around? If you are not tossing dead leaves onto me you are stealing my topsoil." The ground said.

"Its not my fault if your topsoil wants to hitch a ride with me. Isn't it the job of the tree roots to hold you together? And as for the leaves, obviously that is also something you should take up with the trees. When it comes to leaves I'm just the dealer - the manufacturer is the real problem."

"Don't try to pin it all on the trees. I have seen you creeping through their branches, willfully plucking at leaves."

"Seen? Impossible, as I am invisible." The wind cried.

"I have news for you, when you are trying to sneak away with my soil you are quite visible. But you don't even need my soil for that. Everyone can see you have lost the clarity of your complexion. Air, pure? Ha! Your face is ruined by the toxins you wear. Do you think anyone is impressed by your fake tan? No, we all know it is just added nitrogen."

"Who are you to talk? Soil doesn't even make noise, so I can't imagine what you are talking about. And toxins? Who do you think is dirtier, me or dirt? On top of that, you might as well know that your secret is out: everyone is aware that you have worms."

"So. What is wrong with worms? At least I am not infected with birds. In case you haven't noticed you are swarming with them. Which reminds me, by the way, if you are going to harbor birds you should keep their poop to yourself - you have no right to drop their poop on me."

"I thought you like poop. Isn't it one of your better components?"

"Not any more. The whole probiotics fad is over."

"You're full of..."

But here the wind stopped.

"Full of what? Full of what? What were you going to say?"

But the wind was quiet. The leaves no longer rustled, and all that could be heard were the footsteps of a human.

"Hey, watch where you are walking," the dirt would have said.

....

The man stopped and stood. The wind rose back up for a moment to tear leaves free from the trees, and a few these happened to settle on the head and shoulders of the man. He looked up at the branches in acknowledgment, then walked a few steps to stop again in a sunnier spot in the forest. He stood here for a time, until the shadows of the trees once again swallowed his own shadow, then he moved to a new sunny patch.

"See." One of the trees said. "That human wants to be a tree."

"I doubt that."

"Why else would he be standing in the forest."

"He could be trying to become a mushroom."

"No, mushrooms don't like so much sun. He wouldn't keep moving out of the shade like that."

"Well he is not a very good tree. Real trees have the dignity to not run from shadows."

"A agree, he is not convincing at all. I have yet to see a bird land on him."

"Of course not, not with those limbs!"

"Now that I think about it, it appears he is trying to be a dead tree."

"That is your most ridiculous suggestion yet. He keeps moving. Dead trees can't move around."

"They do when humans pick them up and put them in trucks."

"Hm. Maybe. But I guess we will never know for sure."

"Indeed, humans are quite outside the realm of understanding."

...

The man stood still and looked up at the tree canopy. He was listening to a sound, trying to locate its source.

"What is that sound," he said to himself. Since he was alone he spoke out loud. This is a strange property of people: speaking out loud to themselves, as if words require ears to be understood. It is something trees would never do.

"What is that sound? It sounds like bird song," he said to himself, "only different." It is higher in pitch but muffled in volume. Though he searched the canopy for the source, he had a suspicion that the sound was coming from underground.

Standing still in the forest made him cold, so he moved to a patch of sunlight.

"Damn," the earthworm said. "Why does this thing have to keep moving? If something is going to stand still, it should just do it just once, instead of standing still all over the place. If he thinks he is a tree, he should note that other trees all manage to stay rooted."

The worm crawled through the soil until it was once again directly under the human's feet. There it resumed excavating, gradually removing dirt from under the creature.

The worm, you see, had once been told that humans were very intelligent, but the worm did not believe it. At the very least humans were certainly not as intelligent as worms. Worms, for example are smart enough to know that one should not expose oneself in the forest, as doing so puts one at risk of being accosted by birds. Since the worm doubted the wisdom of humans, the worm, being wise, came up with a way of testing it: by counting how many neurons were in a human's head. The experiment, however, was complicated by the fact that what humans lack in intelligence is made up for in height: the human's head was too high above the ground. This was why the worm devised the plan to tunnel under the human, excavating enough soil to cause it to sink about six feet, at which point the worm would be able to crawl into one of the many holes in the human's head, thus gaining access to count neurons.

It was hard work excavating so much soil, but the worm liked the labor, and it was made more agreeable by the songs he sang as he dug.

"Heave high. The bird must tunnel through the sky.
While we worms move free, flying deep beneath the trees."

The man heard the singing again. He was now certain that it was not a bird. Birds have a better sense of melody and eschew esoteric lyrics, besides the singing was definitely coming from beneath him.

"Dig dig, swallowing dirt we toil. Until poop poop, out goes the soil." Sang the worm.

Fortunately no one heard this particularly bad verse.

As you might have guessed already, the worm had made a miscalculation, for though the worm was quite good at math, he had not properly factored in the geometry of humans. Worms themselves are essentially cylinders terminated at either end with parabolic cones, and our excavator had assumed that humans are similarly cylindrically shaped. Thus perspective had misled the worm about the scale of the man's waist, and the worm excavated under an area only as wide as the man's shoes. Thus, when the digging was done dug, the man did indeed sink down, but stuck he done got with his head near not the ground. The great tragedy of the story is that the worm, failing to notice this,crawled into the wrong place, where - finding nothing that looked like a brain - the worm made a strange conclusion about what is inside human heads.

...

"Look." A tree said, seeing the man halfway sunk into the ground. "I believe he has succeeded."

"Indeed. I did not think humans could ever take root. Perhaps they are not so dumb after all."

...