The Steady Sands

I stepped onto the polished kitchen counter and noticed a small wooden-framed hourglass resting on its side beside a breakfast tray. Its glass bulbs were intact, but the pale gold sand inside was frozen mid-flow. Bracing my clogs against the granite surface, I wrapped both hands around the smooth timber spindle and gently levered the frame upright. A steady trickle of sand immediately broke free, whispering down the narrow waist into a neat, rising mound at the bottom. I stood quietly beside it, matching my morning breaths to the rhythmic descent until the upper chamber ran completely clear.