By Owen Townend
I looked down into an hourglass.
Mostly sand. Gradual granule representatives of time.
I saw myself in miniature on a beach with the tide far off. I was kneeling in that moment, not praying. My little footprints led back a distance.
I could see I was waiting for the sky to open up. To stop encroaching. Trapped within warped sheets of glass where the light bent in irregular ways, I struggled for focus. Losing balance, I fell backwards.
The sand shifted, rose up; it muffled my scream, choking me, obscuring vision.
I dropped the hourglass. A fleck got in my eye.
See, now if you’d only prayed while you knelt you may have avoided the mote in your eye!
I like your sentences, and my favourite was “Gradual granule representatives of time.”
So mote it be. Ta, Jack!
Well done. I sank into those sands.
Thank you muchly, Jon!