I carve white branches through the dark, a fleeting, brilliant, burning mark. Though gone before the eye can rest, I leave the storm to tell the rest.

I am black from head to toe. In Norse mythology, I am both memory and thought. Sometimes I’m an omen, in others good luck.

I have no voice, yet I roar. I have no hands, yet I strike. I have no body, yet I bring both life and ruin. What am I?

I might be an eye color I am the name of a sixties TV show I could be half the name of an astringent. I am part of a nutty creamer Looney Tunes has a witch with my name.

Fields of green and barns of red, It’s where your milk and meat are bred. Tractors roll and crops grow tall, What’s the place that has them all?