Grains of Sand

I slipped back inside as the chill settled on the porch, padding softly toward the warm corner of the bookcase. Tucked beside a stack of clothbound notebooks, a small wooden sand timer stood in the amber glow of the side lamp. I crouched low, watching tiny grains of white sand trickle through the narrow glass waist in total silence. Not a single sound came out. Slowly, I lifted one paw and tapped the wooden base. It shifted just a hair, settling firmly against the dark paper edge while the last pale grains gathered into a quiet cone below.