The Stream of Sand

I climbed onto the low kitchen stool and peeked over the tabletop. Resting beside an empty ceramic mug was a small hourglass with smooth wooden caps. I paused, watching the fine white sand sitting perfectly still in the bottom bulb. Taking slow care, I reached out with both paws and tilted the cool glass cylinder until it stood upright on its opposite base. A tiny, whispering stream of sand began trickling through the narrow neck, building a neat little mound below. I sat back softly on the wood and watched each grain tumble down.