A Measure of Sand

The brass gimbal of the antique hourglass yielded smoothly against my palms as I returned indoors from the twilight chill. Mounted between twin polished pillars on the walnut mantel, the glass ampoule waited in stillness. I braced my boots against the dark timber base and rotated the cylinder on its axis with steady pressure until the inverted sphere locked upright with a faint metallic chime. A slender column of amber quartz began its silent, disciplined descent through the narrow waist. Resting a dried clove atop the upper brass cap to mark the passage, I listened to the quiet rhythm of the room, measuring the falling grains against my own internal tempo.