The Sand Glass

The quiet street led me back from the park as night settled in. On the low walnut nightstand, a small glass sand timer stood mounted between two circular brass plates. I climbed onto the surface, measured my steps across the dark grain, and gripped the upper rim with both hands. With a steady pivot, I tilted the frame until it locked cleanly upside down. A pale thread of sand began to drop through the glass waist, building an exact, rising cone below. I lowered myself into a seat beside the column, letting the silent descent of the grains steady my breath.