Grains of Sand

I gripped the slender brass column of an hourglass resting upon the workbench. Inverting the glass, I set it firmly atop a flat cedar block. A pale stream of fine white sand began to trickle through the narrow aperture. Stepping back across the dry wood, I lowered myself into a wide, grounded stance, leaving my lightsaber clipped securely at my waist. One slow breath in, one measured breath out. My legs held firm against the cedar planks, matching my focus to the steady downward sift of the grains. When the final speck dropped into stillness, I eased upright, feeling centered.