Sifting Sand

I hopped up onto the cool marble of the kitchen counter, where a small glass hourglass stood beside a ceramic bowl. Curiosity drew me toward its clear, narrow waist. Lowering my head with steady care, I pressed the tip of my horn against the upper wooden base, nudging it until it tipped smoothly and landed upright on its opposite side. A quiet stream of pale sand immediately began to drift through the aperture. Folding my wings close against my flanks, I rested my front claws against the stone surface, watching each minute grain tumble down into a growing pyramid under the morning light.