Trickle of Sand

A small wooden hourglass was resting sideways against the base of the bedside table, its pale sand pooled quietly in one bulb. I paused, watching how the warm amber lamplight glowed through the curved glass. Moving forward with unhurried steps, I pressed my plush front hooves onto the carpet and nudged the rounded wooden base with my snout. It wobbled upright with a soft thud against the wood trim. Instantly, a silent, slender stream of white sand began to trickle through the glass waist, gathering into a neat little cone below. I leaned my chin against the smooth pine pillar, watching each quiet grain drift down as the room grew still.