A lovely metaphor from Terry Pratchett's Discworld novel Equal Rites:

It was good thunderstorm country, up here in the Ramtop Mountains, a country of jagged peaks, dense forests and little river valleys so deep the daylight had no sooner reached the bottom than it was time to leave again. Ragged wisps of cloud clung to the lesser peaks below the mountain trail along which the wizard slithered and slid. A few slot-eyed goats watched him with mild interest. It doesn't take a lot to interest goats.

Sometimes he would stop and throw his heavy staff into the air. It always came down pointing the same way and the wizard would sigh, pick it up, and continue his squelchy progress.

The storm walked around the hills on legs of lightning, shouting and grumbling.

_{(cf Mines of Metaphor (1999-09-28), Wonder Why (2000-05-10), Thoughtful Metaphors (2000-11-08), Pregnant Sails (2001-06-26), Roses by Other Names (2004-02-01), Invisible Aura (2004-08-03), Wallflowers (2011-01-01), Trust-Building Techniques (2017-12-09), Speak, Poetry (2018-03-23), Yoneda Friend (2019-11-22), ...) - ^z - 2020-09-24}