I am a thousand threads of what is possible. When it is threaded into string, my many becomes one, undeniable possibility and the rest impossible. I am always ahead, but my opposite is always behind. What am I?

A face, aloof, upon my head, And feathers on my tail. My name: the fraction I am worth. Used oft to label hail.

A stint of warmth for dough not risen, A clue that sends the thief to prison. The reasoning behind why math is true, Or the stiffness of the drink you brew.

I start as easy as one two three, Then to five, eight, and thirteen, you see. Pure madness! How can any foresee? This sequence is the...

Falling with no sound I vanish when shaped just right Order births the void.