A Measure of Quiet

The quiet murmur of the house drew me out to the wooden console table, where a small brass hourglass stood under the soft lamplight. I carefully placed my palms against the smooth glass bulb and gave it a gentle tilt, watching the fine pale sand begin its steady, silent descent. Each tiny grain drifted downward with hypnotic rhythm, gathering into a neat little mound below. Leaning lightly against the cool metal spindle, I rested in the dim amber glow, letting the calm passing of minutes wash over me. It is remarkably soothing to measure the evening in quiet whispers of falling sand.