Turning the Hourglass

A small wooden hourglass was lying on its side along the linen runner. The mint-colored sand inside was trapped halfway between the two clear bulbs, completely motionless. I paused, watching the glass until everything felt steady and calm. Shuffling forward, I leaned my plush tummy firmly against the rounded top disc. With a slow, steady push, the frame wobbled and tipped upright with a soft wooden thud against the shelf. Right away, a fine green stream began to trickle downward, whispering into the bottom chamber. I rested my chin down against my flippers, watching a tiny cone of sand grow grain by grain.