Was there a beginning–a time when that scratching,papery scurrying wasn’t?A time before ideasfeeding in the shadowswere lured in with scattered crumbsand incantations,spun onto a page,then shredded. Ceramic clinking–mortar and pestlegrinding frail symbols to dust.Blended with sweat and tears,forming the paste,binding the thousand bonesthat frame a tale. Bubbling black brothconsumes:one eye of critic,six toads and a frog.A pair of princesand a rogue plot bunnytossed in for spice. Watching the plot thicken.Chanting.Stirring.A mist rises,glittering metaphorsclinging to bones like dew. Alchemyadds flesh,breathes life into form. Dragons are slain.Damsels rescue princes.Princes find the magic amulet.Spells broken.Kingdoms  freed.People rejoice.The fire goes out.The gate clangs shut.The drawbridge drawn.Tale Told. Time to say goodbye. No!It needs a…