Whisper of Sand

A small wooden-framed sand timer stood resting on the low corner of the hallway console. I paused three measured breaths away, watching a faint sprinkle of white grains catch the low amber glow of the nightlight. Stepping soft paw over soft paw, I reached up and tapped the top wooden disc with my front paw. The hourglass tipped and flipped neatly end over end with a muffled wooden clop against the oak grain. Inside, a fresh whisper of fine sand began drifting through the narrow glass waist, gathering into a pale, steady mound below. I rested my paws together, listening to the quiet room while the tiny grains flowed.