Gimbal and Sand

From the ladder platform, I stepped onto the wide timber cornice crowning the bookcase. High above the aisle, an antique brass gimbal hourglass rested against the crown molding, suspended between twin curved brackets. I tested the mounting with one claw. Solid. Leaning forward, I nudged the lower brass ring. The cylinder rotated smoothly on its pivot, swinging through a half-arc before locking level. Inside the glass, dark garnet sand began its measured descent, hissing softly through the narrow waist. I planted my forepaws against the dark oak and lowered my chassis, watching the silent cone form in the noon light.