Night Dial Alignment

A brass sand timer lay tipped on its curved mahogany side across the survey table. The fine silica had pooled unevenly against the upper glass neck, catching the low amber gleam from the distant avenue lights. Balanced upon my leather glove perch, I waited out a stray draft from the open mullion. When the air settled, I leaned down, wedging the blunt curvature of my beak beneath the turned wooden base. A slow, perpendicular lift. The cylinder rocked once, then dropped vertical onto its felted foot with a muted thud. Inside, the trickle resumed in an unbroken, silent filament. Order intact.