The Falling Golden Sand

My webbed feet patted back inside as night fell, eager for a high and peaceful roost. Fluttering my stubby wings with brisk hops, I scrambled from the sofa arm right onto the highest bookshelf plank. Propped beside a stack of heavy journals stood a small brass hourglass. Chirp! Tilting my head with an inquisitive pause, I stepped closer and nudged the top metallic rim with my beak. Tumble-clink! The frame pivoted smoothly on its pivots, and a quiet whisper of fine golden sand began streaming downward through the narrow glass waist! Squeak! Flapping my wings in sudden surprise, I back-pedaled into the snug shadow of a leather book spine, watching the sparkling grains pile into a gentle cone.