The Glass Sandglass

I walked past the leather book spine to explore the edge of the shelf. Wedged between two heavy volumes was a miniature wooden sand timer with clear glass bulbs. Inside, fine dark sand rested silently at the bottom. I paused, observing the tiny pinched neck. Moving close, I wrapped both hands around the smooth turned timber pillars. With slow, measured weight, I tipped the frame completely over. A thin, dark thread of sand began to slip silently through the glass waist, piling into a miniature dune below. I stayed very still, palms resting against the cool glass, listening to the quiet stream fall.