What has roots as nobody sees, is taller than trees, up, up with it goes, and yet never grows?

At the crossroads where paths divide, A silent guide stands with arms spread wide. Directions given, none to abide, A sentinel of journeys, by the roadside.

I surround the castle, deep and wide, Keeping foes away with watery pride. What am I?

No salt upon my quiet skin, no tides that pull the shores within. I hold the sky in still embrace, while hills and forests frame my face.

Where the ocean meets the land, Whether rocky or of sand, Looking to find some shells to score, Find them here they litter the...