I am an ordinary star, my light takes eight minutes to reach you, and every shadow and season is my doing. What am I?

My seven colours always march in the same order, I am sunlight bent through rain, and gold is fabled at my end. What am I?

I drop from a storm as a spinning column, and one famously swept a girl and her dog off to Oz. What am I?

I am a cloud that lost its height, I swallow the road ahead, and I make ships sound their horns. What am I?

I am hotter than the surface of the sun, I strike in a blink, and my rumble always arrives a moment late. What am I?

I fall as six-sided stars, no two of me are ever alike, and I hush the whole world under a white blanket. What am I?

I weigh many tons yet float as if weightless, and being on nine means pure happiness. What am I?

You feel me and hear me but never see me, I spin turbines and fill sails, and I have no colour at all. What am I?

I am born over warm seas, I am given a human name each year, and I hide a strangely calm eye at my centre. What am I?

I paint delicate ferns on cold glass overnight, I am dew that froze, and legend gives me the name Jack. What am I?

I am rain that froze on the way down, I can grow as big as a golf ball, and I dent cars in a summer storm. What am I?

I am the awkward child of rain and snow, a cold slushy mess that pleases absolutely no one. What am I?

I am a long spell of dangerous heat that buckles roads and shatters records, sending everyone chasing shade. What am I?

I am nothing but a sound, the boom of air torn open by a bolt, and I always arrive after the flash. What am I?