Sentences with phrase «gently moving water»

Why do we find gently moving water so irresistible?

Enjoy tranquility and refresh your senses in the 60 foot mosaic pool or at the private beach and let the sound of the gently moving water soothe your soul.

Not exact matches

When you see your float pulled gently down, or moved gently in the water, then strike.

Gently splash water over your baby's body or lay them on their back and move gently through the water, with lots of eye contact and sGently splash water over your baby's body or lay them on their back and move gently through the water, with lots of eye contact and sgently through the water, with lots of eye contact and smiles.

It may help to keep your baby calm if you wash one side of the face at a time, gently moving to the other side with fresh new and warm water.

You are also enhancing your communication and bond with your baby, moving gently towards early toileting independence, removing the risk of genital rashes and saving heaps of energy and water used in washing cloth nappies and / or all the money that you would otherwise be spending on disposables.

He gently moved my spine and pulled my body through the water so that my arms floated and swayed like I was in some kind of ecstatic aquatic dance.

As you move in the water, you are «gently» but strongly using most muscles in your body.

The treadmill moves up to the same level as the floor and is gently and quietly lowered into the water.

Canoeists are often mesmerised by the enchanting river, along the banks of which the vegetation gently caresses the still dark waters, and at times gentle breezes ruffle the surface creating a moving tableaux of shimmering silver that scurry across the surface.

The elegant solution is to use crynosis (the rune that allows you to create up to three pillars of ice out of water) to deftly guide the ball to its destination, gently moving it down the slope into the awaiting receptacle.

, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,

1990 Learn to Read Art / Livres et Affiches, Le Nouveau Musee Villeurbanne, Villerubanne, FR Big Stones Moved From Here And There Between The Heavens And The Earth, Inauguration of Public Sculpture, Villeurbanne, FR Put Into Another Light, Galerie Pietro Sparta, Chagny, FR Broken Glass, Jablonka Galerie, Cologne, DE On One Side of the Same Water, Galeria Foksal, Warsaw, PL Licht = (Licht), Joods Historisch Museum, Amsterdam, NL With the Passage of Time, Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Washington, D.C., US (Some of This) + (Some of That) Gently Placed Under the Light of Polaris, Holstebro, DK

It's a region of the North Pacific ocean where the northern jet stream and the southern trade winds, moving opposite directions, create a vast, gently circling region of water called the North Pacific Gyre — and at its center, there are tons of plastic garbage.