Flat land as far as the eye can see; the opposite of fancy; the American midwest

I blanket the hills in a soft chilly sheet, where sleds race downhill and skis find their feet.

I’m beneath your feet where the waves roll in, a million tiny grains that stick to your skin.

I am weighed in pounds or ounces, Yet I have no flesh or bone. I am worn by dragons, snakes, and fish, Where no coat of fur is grown. I can measure musical notes in sequence, Or map out mountain ranges tall.

I sit in the distance, at night set alight by the souls of the day where they lay. Sands and sounds are my bounds, from peer to pier I appeal with zeal.