Steady Stream

I stepped onto the dark wood side table and squared up directly in front of that small wooden hourglass. The sand was all settled dead at the bottom. No way was I leaving it frozen like that. I hooked my hands around the narrow glass center, planted my boots firm against the polished grain, and flipped the whole frame end-over-end with one crisp, controlled pivot! Shhh—a fine stream of black sand kicked off instantly, whispering straight down the middle. I leaned my forearms across the smooth wooden pillar, tracking every grain tumbling onto the pile. Pure rhythm, steady and locked in for the night.