A house has it, but a garden doesn't. A pavilion is essentially only this, supported by poles. What word are we looking for?

Threaded ballet where needle and thread dance, stitching tales in fabric's embrace, mending hearts and hems alike.

I arrive in a bottle but vanish in a shower, I fight with dirt but don’t have power. I make your crown feel fresh and light, Then disappear without a fight. What am I?

After it's opened for the first time, what's taken out is rarely put back in. The first four help take steps or climb The last three is something you're supposed to think outside of to win

In the ballpark's heart I stand, where leather meets my hand. With curves and speed, I lead the dance, giving batters one last chance.