The Whispering Sand

A small wooden sand timer was resting on its side along the lower bookshelf. I walked over and placed both plush hands against its round base, pushing steadily until it tipped upright on the smooth shelf. Inside the clear glass, a tiny stream of pale sand immediately began to slip through the narrow waist with a soft, continuous whisper. I sat down right beside it, tucking my legs close. Each tiny grain settled into a neat, growing mound without making a single harsh sound. I kept very still, listening to the gentle hush until the top bulb was completely empty.