Answer:
Each morning I appear to lie at your feet, all day I follow no matter how fast you run. Yet I nearly perish in the midday sun.
Thousands of these come together to make a digital image. What is it?
The more of them you take, the more you leave behind. What are they?
Always old, sometimes new. Never sad, sometimes blue. Never empty, sometimes full. Never pushes, always pulls.
When the son of the water returns to the parent, it dies. What is it?
People take me on walks and I run and have fun. What am I?