OK. The "purling river" has got me thinking. Could we construct here a group of water terms that strictly describe (or even leniently describe) the movement of water, whether terms that are actually in the dictionary (as "purling" is for movement of water) or poetic--newly created or otherwise? (What? Oldly creative? What a thought!) All bodies of water would be perfectly acceptable here, from storm in a teacup to the waters in the Sky.

I'll start by repeating what we learned on the Purling thread and then move (or not, as is the case below) to something different. There must be a lot of terms in between and, also, extended outwardly in opposite directions-three- four- five- six-dimensional---who cares.

1. purling river
2. stagnant water

Boat regards,
WordWater

rippling stream...

"smooth as glass" I know this doesn't describe movement, but it is used to describe a lake or pond...

1. gurgling brook
2. crashing surf
3. running tide
4. choppy sea
5. rolling swells
6. racing current
7. surging current
8. storm surge
9. tidal wave
10. tsunami
11. winding rivulet(s)
12. streaming tears

A babbling brook and a lapping wave.

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,
Seem here no painful inch to gain,
Far back, through creeks and inlets making,
Comes silent flooding in, the main.

Bring me a wheel of oaken wood
A rein of polished leather
A heavy horse and a tumbling sky
brewing heavy weather

Oh yes, smooth as glass" I know this doesn't describe movement, but it is used to describe a lake or pond...

and suggest to me, White capped--the normaly placid bay, today was white capped, though the front, and all its storms are still hours off..

Sea-Fever

John Masefield

I MUST down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy life.
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

© John Masefield

Eddy
Whirlpool
maelstrom
http://www.math.uio.no/maelstrom/
Hi, FiberBabe

twice a day, 5 days a week, i ride through a salt water marsh.. every day, it is different. Tuesday, last week, when the moon was half full, the tides were double full, and water creaped up the stony embankent that holds the tracks.. all signs of the old wooden bridge were hidden under the placid water that slowly gently flooded the marsh..

this morning, low tide, the creek out to the bay was not much wider than a stride, and soft mud on edges looked like cuniform, a secret language created by the egrets. a cormarnt sat high, and drying, on the rotted woods of an ancient bridge. the crooked wings, hung like a great shrug, as if he were uncertain of everthing.. far out in the bay, the water was silver pink, still tinged with dawn color, and the mist of morning had not yet been sweeped away by the suns rays.. How white the hulls of boats gleamed.. and their masts reach up, like weary early morning risers, streatching there arms above their heads and yawning ,in wonderous surprize of the light of day.

Little Neck bay is very small, and almost insignifigant. but it is a joyous part of the rhythm of my day.

Dear of troy,

That description is one of the loveliest pieces of writing I've come across here. Thank you for telling us what you get to see in those marshes. You've mentioned them before--several times, I think--but here--ah!--there was a lot of emotion in what you wrote!

Best regards,
WW

Helen,

That is a gobsmackingly gorgeous word portrait. I think you should send it to the NYT's "Dear Diary." I'll be happy to proofread it, if you wish

That is beautiful - thank you helen.

A sink brims with water. You pull the plug. The water stirs. A vortex materializes. It blooms into a tiny whirlpool, growing as if it were alive. In a minute the whirl extends from surface to drain, animating the whole basin. An ever changing cascade of water molecules swirls through the tornado, transmuting the whirlpool's being from moment to moment. Yet the whirlpool persists, essentially unchanged, dancing on the edge of collapse.

"We are not stuff that abides, but patterns that perpetuate themselves," wrote Norbert Wiener.

this morning, low tide, the creek out to the bay was not much wider than a stride, and soft mud on edges looked like cuniform, a secret language created by the egrets. a cormarnt sat high, and drying, on the rotted woods of an ancient bridge. the crooked wings, hung like a great shrug, as if he were uncertain of everthing.. far out in the bay, the water was silver pink, still tinged with dawn color, and the mist of morning had not yet been sweeped away by the suns rays.. How white the hulls of boats gleamed.. and their masts reach up, like weary early morning risers, streatching there arms above their heads and yawning ,in wonderous surprize of the light of day.
[tears in eyes]

a secret language created by the egrets

This whole post was such a joy to read, so beautifully evocative I felt I was there, the secret language created by the egrets reminiscent of the Greek myth of Palamedes and the cranes.

http://www.mintmuseum.org/artvu/collie/language.html

you have all been so kind-- i feel my words, as much as they move you, do little to speak of the great beauty of the bay.. here are a few images..
the first is very similar to what i see from the train, the second is an arial view, the next an image for the deep part of the bay, looking east, and finally an image of the western shore.


http://www.littleneck.net/udallscove/Ospreys.htm
the site has some winter photos, of the east side of the bay, looking north. these photos were taken close to RR line, southern end of bay, were it is a grassy marsh, and focus on the telephone pole mount that serves as an Osprey nest.(looking North)

http://www.hydroqual.com/projects/usa/alleyCrk_imagePg1.html

in this arial image, the RR line is the faint, darker line, south, were the bay has been reduced to just a creek. the lighter, easy to see grey line is Northern Blvd, the main street in the area. (the bright green blob is a driving range, between the two..., the bottom edge of the photo is I-495.. the Long Island Expressway (top is north, bottom of image, south)

http://www.hydroqual.com/projects/usa/alleyCrk_imagePg2.html
the east shore of the further out--this is were the boats dock in the summer, but this winter image is bare.-- (looking east.)

the dock can just barely be seen, as a white spot, on the eastern shore (which is Douglaston town, Little Neck town is the further eastern side of the Neck, that looks as if it were tilting east..)in image 1. The far north, eastern shore is Great Neck.

http://www.skatecity.com/nyc/nyc_pix.cgi?p=littleneck1
a bike skate path on the western edge of the bay. the highway in this image seen can be seen clearly in the arial image. (looking North)

"We are not stuff that abides, but patterns that perpetuate themselves"

Great quote, BY.

But we do (as do whirlpools or tornados) consist of "stuff" as well, specifically "world-stuff" that, but for the pattern, couldn't be separated from what is around us.

I quite liked Alan Watts' line:
"We don't come in to this world - we come out of it"

"They speak a language that burgles and rains from their mouths like water through a pipe."

Barbara Kingsolver: The poisonwood bible (a book oft-mentioned on this board and currently on my bedside table)