Turning the Glass

I wrapped both paws around the turned wooden pillars of the small hourglass resting on the kitchen shelf. With a firm, patient tilt, I turned it upside down, setting its flat base back onto the wood. Right away, a thin thread of pale amber sand began to hiss softly through the narrow glass neck. I pressed my chin against the cool curve of the lower bulb, watching the tiny grains tumble one by one into a growing pyramid. I slowed my breathing, matching each quiet breath to the steady rhythm of the trickle until the very last grain slid down to rest.