I am very comfortable to lay in but difficult to sit on. Stretch me between two trees on a nice day and have yourself a little nap.

Closed, I guard my secrets well. Opened, I begin to tell. Through ink and thought I build a door. Step inside and explore. What am I?

I'm some riddles, I'm used to describe eyelids. In other riddles, it's hair, or the end of your life. But actually, I have something to do with windows.

A slender thread of metallic grace, Connecting here and there with a trace, In the old days, it sang with a whispering hum, Carrying voices and electricity where they thrum.

In a shell of tan, a twin within, delight in crunch for all to munch. Often crushed to smooth or chunky delight, it spreads joy every bite.