handful of sand

I reach into the sand
and pull out a handful,
each grain different,
so many colors

it’s tempting to see
them all the same,
same shape, same size
yet infinite in beauty,

there because
for eons they’ve been pummeled
by elements--
broken down from rocks

to the minutest
of entities,
they could not get any smaller
without disappearing completely

every one significant,
plotted and planned,
every soul that walks the beach--
the designer keeps account

he knows their rising up,
their lying down
and if I try to count his thoughts,
they outnumber the sand in my hand. 

Liz McFadzean 

“How precious to me are your thoughts, God!  How vast is the sum of them!  Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand.”  Psalm 139:17-18