I'm worked by owls Who shun the sun Mind the gap now My word, they have none

I crackle with life when warmth is sought, a forest's gift to hearth and thought. In stacks, I rest until the spark calls, feeding flames in winter's halls.

I leave a trail you cannot see, yet clever noses follow me. A hound may chase where I have been, what am I drifting on the wind?

A wooden line 'twixt land and sky. Keeps the critters from their roam, marking where is truly home.

Tall and bright in fields I stand, a golden disk on a slender stem. Though I cannot walk or roam, I follow the sun from my earthen home.