Righting the Glass

I climbed from the armchair up onto the stone mantelpiece, scouting out a quiet roost to wind down for the night. Tucked behind a heavy brass candlestick, I found an old wooden sand timer knocked sideways on the marble. Equipment like that shouldn't be left out of commission. I grabbed the upper circular rim, planted both boots against the polished stone, and gave it a firm heave. The wooden frame rocked, pivoted upright, and settled onto its base with a solid clack. In an instant, fine white grains began whispering down through the narrow glass waist, forming a neat pyramid below. I leaned back against the cool glass bulb, watching the steady countdown.