I follow you all day long, but when the night or rain comes, I am gone. I mimic your every move, yet I make no sound. What am I?

When little pieces are falling from the sky, It can be gathered and is kind of dry. Push it together, make it round, make it tight, You are born when three spheres unite, A touch of wood with a rocky sight, No one had this ever fried.

I buzz until you slap the air, then vanish as if I weren’t there. You swear you’ve won the little fight . . . until I visit later that night.

I am born from trees but am flat as a board, I can hold all your secrets or a king's spoken word.

I never learned a single word, yet all day long I babble. I wander where the land allows, while stones shape my laughter.