The Whispering Sand

I climbed onto the bedside table to wind down, where a slender wooden hourglass was resting under the warm glow of the lamp. Its pale sand was completely settled in the lower bulb. Wanting to hear if it made a sound, I placed both hands against the turned wooden pillars and carefully inverted the frame onto its circular base. A silky stream of sand began to slip through the glass neck, making a faint, rhythmic hush like a quiet whisper. I sat down cross-legged beside it, watching each grain build a neat little cone until my eyes felt pleasantly heavy.