I come when the world grows quiet and still, softening edges, obeying no will. I brighten the day by stealing its hue, revealing each footprint that dares to pass through. What am I?

I can seal a door without a key. I can leave the sky in a jagged flash. I can cross a room faster than your doubt can catch me. I can hold two pieces together so tightly they behave as one. What am I?

Some say I am brewing, some say I am coming. When I finally arrive, I roar in the sky.

I am born without breath Yet I wander endlessly. I carve without hands, Feed without a mouth, And remember every place I’ve never stayed. I move only forward, Giving myself away until nothing is left, And still I am never empty. What am I?

The ending of a holiday bird And also for a pack animal that lives in a herd. Three little letters, one syllable long, The most important thing to know before playing a song.