I paint a whole scene, but hold no brush. A wide view I bring, without a rush. What am I, this vista's lush?

I sit and I float, and await the gentle pull, of a manmade track, with waterborne floats. Idleness is in my title, the goal is to float along, without any movement; the water sings the song. I idly wait, and the current does take, my single or double person float, especially with kids; I keep my eyelids wide open, well past my curfew.

A ceiling vast, where dreams take flight, adorned in blue or starry white. Holds the sun and moon in sight, a canvas for the birds' delight.

I am a pillar of stone, smooth and tall, With no windows, doors, or seams at all. I stand in the desert, or deep in space, A silent giant from a hidden place. Ancient or modern, a mystery I bring, A shadow cast without saying a thing.

A Canadian place famed for a rush of gold. An old ad asked what you would do for one. A trove of records, rich with things once told.