What goes blonde, to fluffy white, to bald in a season?

An earthborn star on the warmest of nights flickers, joining the nebulous spiral of their beloved brethren.

The quick whisper of scissors, a gentle break in the thread, this sound marks a new beginning or a sudden end.

I carry lands to the sky by their colorful cloths, and tether their borders against winds.

What’s sweet and dry, or oversoaked, but furrowed either way?