Silent Pivot

I climbed out from the velvet hollow of the guitar case onto the sunlit floorboards. On a low cedar stool near the window sat a miniature brass hourglass, its rust-colored sand pooled motionless at the base. I stepped onto the cross-brace and pulled myself up to the seat. Bracing both boots against the wood, I caught the central brass spindle with two hands and leaned my weight into a deliberate turn. The cylinder pivoted smoothly in its cage. A slender stream of sand began to cascade through the narrow neck, piling into a quiet mound below. No chime, no hum. Just silent, steady drift.