I sound like arrow, but that is not what I am. I carry death, kings, cups, and more, to lay out futures foretold. I am a full deck, but not meant for play; if read poorly, you may start to pray.

viscous or flowing. Parties or tranquillity. I can be present at either of these. I shower upwards, as the birds drink from me. What am I?

I wear a coat I never chose, My fingers stretch where no wind blows. I drink with feet, yet never roam, And hold my breath through winter’s dome. I count the years in silent rings, And cradle nests and whispered things. What am I?

I can be any color but. I have no race I can decay but never die

A traveler diverging from a wooden spine, reaching out toward the sky, sometimes home to a chirping choir, yet always connected to the heart of a towering elder.