I am born of sand, yet clear as air, I seem to vanish, though I’m still there. I bend the light, or let it pass, and break too quickly with a careless grasp.

I am the sound you hear when something moves quickly through the air past your ear. A basketball swishing through the net makes me. A fast car zooming by creates me. I am a quick rushing noise. What am I?

I am a colorful crowd in a single bowl, Many different parts make up my whole. I might be dressed in juice or honey, Buying me pre-cut costs extra money.

I’m Crowded but don’t dream it’s over . . .

Up and up I go Going so high One by one I climb Straight up to the sky What am I?