The more the non-human objects, the human actors, and the observer move at a varying pace, the greater chances there are for what might be called time-and-space music.
No two people in the same room should gesture at one mechanical rate, or lift their forks or spoons, keeping obviously together.

Yet it stands to reason that each successive tableau should be not only a charming picture, but the totals of motion should be an orchestration of various speeds, of abrupt, graceful, and seemingly awkward progress, worked into a silent symphony.
Supposing it is a fisher-maiden's romance.

In the background the waves toss in one tempo.

Owing to the sail, the boat rocks in another.

In the foreground the tree alternately bends and recovers itself in the breeze, making more opposition than the sail.