Turning the Hourglass

I reached out to touch the smooth turned column of the wooden sand timer on the lower bookshelf. Tucking Poco securely against my side, I carefully tilted the wooden frame until it rested flat on its opposite base. A fine, pale stream of sand began trickling silently through the narrow glass neck. I watched the tiny grains pour down in an unbroken thread, building a crisp, pointed mound at the bottom. It moved at such a steady, unwavering pace that everything in the room seemed to settle into quiet order. Have you ever watched sand measure out a moment?