A nut's steady date, the sky's zigzag, and what a spooked horse does.

I can hide beneath the soil, waiting to become something beautiful or hang overhead, waiting to chase away the dark.

Trade a bed for rocks and roots, And wake up with bugs inside boots. Burn food, fight a bear, And smell like smoke from feet to hair.

I’m a picture that’s super wide, Showing mountains, trees, and tide. You must turn your head to see, All the world in front of me.

I can start with com- When one wants to rant. Or perhaps with open When one thinks of fields and plants. I can be thought of as boring Without a touch of flavor, Like with yogurt or toast, But lose my -s if you favor.