A Measure of Sand

I climbed to the edge of the dark wood mantelpiece as the house grew still. Beside a cluster of dried lavender sat a brass-mounted hourglass, its upper chamber hollow and spent. I planted my boots firmly on the polished wood and braced my gauntlet against the upper rim. With a deliberate, steady heave, I rotated the twin glass bulbs end over end until the brass base seated flat with a muted thud. Immediately, a disciplined stream of fine dark sand began its descent through the central constriction. No grain hurried; none fell out of turn. Sitting with my back braced against the brass pillar, I watched the lower chamber gather into an immaculate cone.