The Trickling Sand

A miniature wooden sand timer was resting on its side across the low hallway bench. I waddled close and sat quietly, watching the morning light catch its clear glass curves. The fine white sand lay motionless inside one bulb. Leaning my rounded chest against the upper wooden cap, I pushed upward with steady patience. The timer rolled slightly, teetered, and righted itself onto its flat base with a soft, solid tap against the pine. Instantly, a silent thread of white sand began streaming down through the narrow glass waist, gathering into a neat cone below. I pulled my paws in and watched the quiet stream flow.