A Measure of Sand

I followed the cleared path outward until the shadows of an ancient cedar draped across the gravel. Halfway embedded in the damp loam lay a miniature wooden hourglass, turned on its side. Its glass bulb was trapped beneath a tangle of wet pine needles. I knelt without haste, resting one knee against the dark earth. With steady fingers, I cleared away the fallen debris needle by needle until the wood emerged intact. I lifted the frame and set it upright upon a flat slate stone. Inside, pale grains of fine sand broke free from their slumber, streaming in a solemn, unbroken thread into the lower chamber. I stood over it in silence, watching time resume its measured fall.