Tiny bearer of a towering load, I walk in lines along the road. I farm and herd beneath your feet, Where fallen crumbs become a feast. A borrowed hill becomes my haunt Name the creature, small yet gaunt.

When water does this it is a place to see, when rocks do this it is a place to avoid. I am an orthopedist’s favorite season and a senior citizen’s least. I sound like a horse in a different stage of life.

Many people think I cannot swim, but I move and flutter in the sea. Some say New England makes the best things out of me.

My first part some slushy chow, My second what you're probably in right now. My whole rises quietly in forests dark, In many dishes my earthy flavors I impart.

Remove my third for a draw Flip me and I become a change to a file Unchanged I am what surfers look for