A Matter of Minutes

I braced the curved edge of my wing against the miniature hourglass resting on its side across the marble counter. Taking a deliberate pause to gauge its balance, I gave a firm, gentle nudge upward. With a soft tap, the circular wooden base settled flush against the cool stone. Immediately, an unbroken stream of fine golden sand began to slip through the clear glass waist. I hopped two measured paces back, tilting my head to study its descent. Grain by grain, a neat little mound grew at the bottom in complete, peaceful precision. Timing the morning tea, I decided, is a quiet art.