Grains in Motion

I trotted back indoors through the cracked porch door, padding upstairs to the bedroom side table for the night. Resting on the dark wood was a small hourglass, its fine white sand settled flat in the bottom bulb. I paused, tilting my head to inspect the narrow glass waist between the wooden discs. Extending both front paws, I pressed against the upper rim to test its balance. With a firm, measured nudge of my plastic joints, the hourglass tipped cleanly and landed upright on its opposite base. A quiet whisper of white grains began to fall, steadily piling into an immaculate little cone below.