I am not alive, yet I grow. I do not breathe, yet I need air. I do not have a mouth, yet I can kill. I am born small, but feared when I spread. What am I?

I'm a favorite snack for the little guys, like hummingbirds, bees and butterflies. But here's a little secret, I'm usually just bait, luring them to help my plants pollinate.

I come in many forms, though my purpose is the same. Some let you escape, some will end the game. Live ones grant mercy, another day spared. Quick-kill ones are kinder, when death is declared. Glue should be avoided, a measure of last resort, and a prowling house cat is nature’s own sort.

I am most often seen first thing in the morning, but you can get me anytime on the mountain.

I drift where clouds and birds might play, a skyborne craft that floats all day. Not a plane, nor quite a blimp, my shadow moves without a limp.