I start out small, yet grow to be, a winding path that feeds the sea.

From Southeast Asia, I’m known as the king of fruits, with over a thousand types worldwide. People look to my skin for ripeness, but that’s not real, and I’m related to cashews and pistachios.

I am very big and made of ice. I form in cold places where snow piles up for many years. I move slowly down mountains like a frozen river. What am I?

I am a ribbon of stone, or of dirt on the ground. In cities, fields and forests I can be found. I always stay put, but can stretch many miles, a silent witness of your footsteps and smiles.

Man walks over, man walks under, in times of war he burns asunder. What is it?