I am the shattered pieces of ancient stones, A crunchy path that shifts and groans. Remove my final letter, I will rest in a final place. Directly in my middle, a techno party is in your face. What am I?

Roots wander through my darkest soil, while seeds sleep down below. Give them some rain and time enough, and something green will grow.

I am winter's confetti, thrown by no hand. Catch me and I vanish, count me and you never finish. I build blankets without thread. What am I?

Gone. Hole. Rod. What word do we all share?

I'm a royal plant of the mint family, yet commoners eat me constantly.