waves - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The waves come as loving rascals, sun-warmed and sweet, to wash upon the sands. Perhaps that is why the children love to play in them so very much, the spirit of the sea and the children coming together in something we grown ups should have held on to.
Aaron watches the sea, lost in the rhythmic percussion of waves on sand. His eyes are steady to the horizon, face aglow with the last orange rays before twilight beckons the stars. His lips bear the semblance of a smile, just enough to show that he is enjoying his thoughts, whatever they may be. Lucy moves closer so that he feels her presence, yet stays quiet, allowing him to stay lost in the moment a while longer.
Undulating waves splashed perpetually against the barnacle-encrusted foundations...
The waves rolled in long and white fringed. The beach was such a shallow incline that even a child could wade out five hundred yards of more and still the water would be below their knees. In places a sand bar would raise them so high that from the shore they appeared to be walking on the water itself. There was no chance of those violent crashing waves that pounded the rocky shoreline only ten miles away, the ones that battered the sea-front houses and set their cars to rusting. At this beach a gale meant impudent swelling waves that thrashed but were as threatening as a watch dog on a short chain. So come rain, shine or near hurricane, this is where my grandfather walked everyday of his retirement, with his nutty ridgeback dog tearing in and out of the brine.
He watched from high above as the waves crashed violently against the base of the crumbling cliffs. The chill sea air bit into him, pushing him back from the precipice, but he stood his ground, watching as waves built up speed and height from far out in the ocean until the peaks rose high above the salty body of water and crashed over into the cliff. The sandy yellow coastline being eroded one wave at a time.
The waves were wild horses, rearing up before crashing down onto the beach, pounding the sand with their white foam hooves.
We shoved off, but had not pulled many strokes before a succession of tremendous rollers came roaring in, turning the boat right over and sending her back almost stove to pieces on the beach.
By the time the lifeguards had manned their boat the waves were taller than a house. Each swell of the sea would be enough to rock the little orange boat to the point of tipping right over. The skipper stood clad in his life-vest, the wind at such a feverish howl that his crew couldn't hear a word, and after taking a deep breath just shook his head. His face was tight and grave, to go would mean risking their lives, to stay meant condemning their friends in the storm. The fishermen were on their own tonight unless a helicopter could be scrambled from Port Howey. On the dock they would have to file past the waiting wives and children who clamoured for good news, any news.
Gigantic waves crashed relentlessly into the concrete sea wall sending salty spray over railings and over the sea front road. Holding onto the rails, knuckles white, wind whipping tousled hair, salt encrusted eyebrows and eyelashes, listening to the smashing of the waves, the dragging of shingle up and down the beach, the howling of the gale.
The furious waves, rushing into the channel on their way to the sea, broke the current and whirled and tossed in every direction.
Crashing, only to revive, endless waves beat the cliff - smoothing the once jagged rock. Though this battle feels endless, the victory of the briny water is assured.