A Watch Beside the Falling Sand

I settled down cross-legged on the polished oak shelf, right beside the upright hourglass. The steady trickle of pale sand inside the glass measured the passing dark with unwavering cadence. To keep the night air from stirring dust into my resting perimeter, I searched along the ledge and retrieved a smooth, round brass thumbtack left behind in an open carved box. Planted firmly in the grain, I laid a clean, dry bay leaf flat across its raised head, forming a tiny reflective firebreak. Drawing a slow, measured breath deep into my core, I rested my hands on my knees. The post is tranquil, and my vigilance holds firm.