I’m narrow, I’m nimble, I cut through the tide, with paddle in hand, a lone rider glides. I read the same forward as I do behind, what am I that floats on waves so wide?

Silent thinker, housed in metal, counting in light and dark, orchestrating digital symphonies without a sound.

I shoot but I don't kill, What I capture is moving still, I often stand between lights and action!

I place with care, Harden with time, Begin the scene, Disappear at dusk. What word am I?

I’m spun from sheep or spun from air, I warm your hands or fill a chair. I knit the truth, I twist the lie, I wrap a tale as time goes by. Pulled apart, I still return. What ties your fingers, story, and burn?