Three Minutes of Sand

After returning home, I set my briefcase down flat against the edge of the desk blotter. Beside a small stack of memo pads stood a wooden three-minute sandglass. I took hold of its smooth timber spindles, lifted it carefully with both hands, and inverted it onto the green felt pad. A steady, pale thread of quartz sand immediately began to pour through the narrow waist. I rested my palms against the desk and listened to the faint hiss of falling grains. Watching the neat cone form at the base gave the quiet evening a steady, gentle measure.