Three-Minute Drift

A small wooden hourglass was resting on its side across the low breakfast bench. I leaned my tummy against the smooth glass bulb and gave it a patient nudge upright. With a tiny clack, it settled firmly onto its round cedar base. Right away, a fine stream of pale golden sand began whispering down through the narrow waist, piling into a tidy little cone at the bottom. I let my round weight sink onto the warm wood right beside it, resting both paws against the base. Watching each tiny grain take its turn felt wonderfully peaceful... no need to rush any minute along.