Trickling Sand

A small wooden hourglass was resting on its side on the low shelf. I crept close and lifted the top rim with both plush hands. With a gentle tilt, I set it upright on its flat base. Inside, fine pale sand immediately began to whisper down. Grain by grain, it slipped through the narrow glass waist, building a tiny golden cone at the bottom. I sat down and rested my palms against the cool glass. The quiet trickle felt so steady in the dim room. I held very still, watching until the last speck tumbled through.