My touch brings forth the automnal decay. In my breath I carry the winter brisk. If you find me do not cry and whine. It's not my place to decide when spring or summer come for you. You can only accept what lays beyound. Who am I?

guard your head from skyward tears and fiery beams alike, a shield above your dwelling height.

I hop but I’m not a rabbit, I croak but I’m not a bird. I love damp places and moonlit nights. What am I?

Sometimes used to knock down beasts, a friendly bar game makes use of me. A deer when running hither and tither, a piercing glance, an iron sliver.

I prefer a place in the shadow and humidity. But I'm no mushroom, I am of the vascular variety. My friends and I like to be together. and my arms fan out like many a feather.