In gardens I stand, a liquid ballet, Dancing in sunlight, a gleaming display. A stone-bound artist, my work never stops, Refreshing the world, making colors pop.

Giant scars, born over a milinnia. Jagged rock faces against a deserted backdrop, best watch your step here, or you'll be dead, full stop.

Wild winds, you must take cover. Prepare and lock up before I come over. Thunder and lightning may appear. A disturbance raging in the atmosphere. What am I?

A fluid swirl with a short life, I cease when the stirrer stops stirring, the drain stops draining, the whirlwind stops whirling.

I can travel with one hundred feet without moving an inch. What am I?