I stand without moving yet I watch it all unfold. Sometimes I guard a story sometimes I hold a face. My edges define what others see inside me but I am empty on my own. I can hang in silence or flicker with sound. What am I?

I have a toe pick to jump and spin, Or a rockered blade for a hockey win. I might have four wheels or just a metal edge, Taking you from the street to the icy ledge.

The eye fixed upward Track celestial dances As the Earth spins on

From crashing seas or garden hose, from perfume mist upon your clothes. I scatter drops that drift away, what am I that floats this way?

From rooftops I begin to grow, as falling drops forget to flow. I lengthen slow in winter’s chill, what am I, sharp and still?