I'm not a famous baller, though we seem to share a name. Find me in a holler, forest, beach or such in similar vein. Built with haste, oft from waste, and left to fall asunder. But in a storm, to be dry and warm, it's me you huddle under.

Why was there a protest at a fabric store? It's a ... of resistance!

If you like this font, then the answer should be clear. I'm what jumps over the dog, quickly as I hear.

I float above but have no wings, I carry words but speak no things. I pop up when voices are drawn, then vanish when the scene is gone.

Often associated with good ideas, genius moments that light reveals. The answer is only half the word, more the container than the verb.