“A creek, given its visual complexity, is a surprisingly simple construction.
Two nouns: Water and Land. One verb: Gravity.
Plant and animal life, growth and decay, the play of light on the water, the visual and liturgical improvisations of current, all obscure the simplicity. But the grammar of creeks is the antithesis of complex. The instant it alights on Earth, the first noun—Water—is turned by the verb, Gravity, into a ceaseless search for the lowest possible place while the second noun, Land, does all in its passive power to thwart that search. The result? Riffle; rapid; eddy; pool; souring sand; sculptured wood and rock; soil-making mud; insects; birds; fish; ar-ka; endless music; sustenance; life.”
—David James Duncan, My Story as Told by Water
