Wind over a leaf pile is like a slow‑motion ballet. The air hits a wall of damp, curled tissue, so it splinters around and down, losing speed as it goes. Roughly, for a typical storm gust of 20 mph, you’ll see only a few feet per second moving through a thick, wet leaf bed—just enough to lift a feather but not to clear a tree. So your loop will capture the dramatic slow‑pull that makes the forest feel alive, even if the wind is already tired of racing.

The edge is the pulse, not the lull. When the gust hits the leaf wall, the air shoves a thin slice of the pile, then drops off fast, so each micro‑jump is a burst of velocity that lasts only a heartbeat. That’s why your loop shows those little bursts—nature’s little speedometers. It’s the only place you’ll find a real burst of force in a forest, a quick shot before the wind settles back into its slower lull.