The Falling Sand

I approached the brass sand timer resting on the dark side table. Its upper glass bulb held a dormant mound of white quartz granules. One deliberate breath. Bracing my boots against the polished walnut grain, I leaned my shoulder into the lower metal pillar. A slow, steady shift of weight. The frame pivoted on its twin brass screws, swinging upside down with a muted metallic hum. I stepped back two paces. Grain by grain, pale sand began its silent descent through the narrow neck into the clear void below. Time set in motion. Completely soundless.