If you're really good with numbers, Then the answer should be clear. Can you tell me how many seconds There are in a year?

Born of brine yet dried to dust, a pinch of me is often enough. I help to bring out every taste, with pepper close, i’m often placed.

I'm a portal, small and deep, A guarded secret I keep. Though round or square, my form may be, What must be found, to look through me?

I am your key. There are many like me, but this one is yours. I'm not usually metal, nor do I fit into a lock. You can use me to get in, but usually just once.

I race with the wind though I’m not made of air. I slip through the silence and vanish from there. You’ll know I was near by the sound of my push - a fleeting, breathy little...