The Whispering Hourglass

I scooted back inside from the garden, sliding across the cool floor to the low reading table. Resting on a dark felt mat was a small hourglass framed in smooth blonde wood. It lay asleep on its side. I nudged the round wooden base with my snout, pushing steadily until it tipped upright against a stack of journals. Shhh... a whisper of pale golden sand began to fall through the narrow neck. It sounded just like a tiny, secret waterfall. I tucked my flippers close and pressed my cheek against the cool glass, quietly watching the sand mound rise until the very last grain drifted down.