From roof and branch I often grow, not from seed nor root below. Though hard as stone to sight and touch, a little warmth becomes too much.

I never fall, yet I cover the ground. I vanish when The sun is around. What am I?

A place at home where green ambitions take root, tended by patient hands until buried life rises.

A popular way to carry a frozen treat, a geometric shape. A post vet visit prison that our four legged friends hate.

I shed my old coats, yet I own no closet. I walk without feet, yet leave a winding path. I swallow my meals whole, yet I never choke.