Grains and Angles

I hopped across the threshold, returning indoors from the garden path. On the oak credenza, a brass-framed hourglass stood motionless beside a ceramic dish. I paused. Two blown-glass bulbs converged into a neck barely wider than a pinhead. Two measured hops brought me into range. Lifting my right front paw, I pressed upward against the lower brass rim. The frame rotated on its side pins with a faint metallic scrape, swinging a full half-circle before leveling out. A steady trickle of pale quartz sand began to sift down. Grain by grain, an exact conical mound formed on the bottom glass, rising in silence.