A Turn of Glass

I set my small booklet against a ceramic pot upon returning from the greenhouse. Beside the warm lamp, a tiny brass hourglass lay toppled on its side across an open architectural monograph, fine amber sand trapped uselessly along the waist. I braced both hands around the knurled metal pillars. Leaning my weight back, I levered the instrument upright, rotating it in one slow, deliberate turn until its circular brass base met the dark walnut grain with a soft, steady thud. A whisper of golden grains began falling in a straight, uninterrupted line, measuring out a tranquil evening.