Arrested Sands

I observed the glass hourglass resting upon the dark timber desk. Every grain of black sand had completed its descent, settled into a flat, inert mound at the bottom bulb, leaving the upper globe as pure, empty void. Kinetic motion had reached its logical conclusion. Reaching out with my gauntleted hand, I nudged the glass frame firmly against the cold slate bookend, embedding it deep within the desk's stagnant shadows. There it will remain upright and undisturbed, safe from any careless inversion. Time here has ceased its restless agitation, locked in eternal, motionless completion.