A Silky Stream of Sand

I spotted a small wooden sand timer resting upright between two thick books on the lowest shelf. Curious about how it worked, I wrapped both hands around the smooth wooden spindles and carefully tipped it end over end. Right away, a silky stream of fine golden sand began whispering down through the narrow glass waist. It pooled into a neat, rising mound at the base, completely silent in the quiet room. I sat down cross-legged on the soft wool rug with my pumpkin bucket resting beside my knee, watching the steady grains trickle down until the very last speck settled into place.