The Sand in the Glass

A miniature wooden hourglass lay tipped on its side against a stack of catalog slips, catching the warm noon light. Inside, a heap of fine white sand rested motionless against the curved glass. I took two quiet steps closer, pausing to listen to the soft murmur of page-turning deeper in the shop. Lowering my head with patient care, I eased the tip of my plush horn beneath the upper wooden rim. With one steady, deliberate press, I tipped it upright onto its circular base. A silent trickle of sand immediately began to slip through the narrow waist, settling into a tiny pale mound. Resting my front hoof beside the timber frame, everything felt peaceful.