Golden grains of dawn

I twirl my fingers in the morning sand,
the golden grains brushing against my skin.
Day after day,
they soak up the sun's energy,
ready to heat whatever they touch.
Whenever the water rushes over them,
they let themselves be rearranged,
as if they believe
that the water knows what's best.
Every day, the sand lets feet pour over it,
squishing, packing,
compressing the sand down.
When dawn rises each morning,
the rising sun makes the sand sparkle,
the rays bouncing off the water-sculpted facets.
The grains reflect the sky on these mornings,
turning pink, purple,
yellow and orange.
The sand deserves this peaceful time,
when the sun awakens from its sleep.