Mystic words fill the air

with a crackling static-type of force field.

A high forehead is wrinkled in deep concentration

as billowing sleeves are pushed back with deliberate care.

The room is littered with books and papers about spell-

casting and incantations that have been accrued over

the centuries and shared among those who are

skilled in it and who care for it so well.

Dust motes fly in the air as dawn's light rushes in

and disturbs the old wizard with its bright light.

His billowing robes and long curling white beard

swirl as he waves across the room to close the shades again.

Deep in thought, he has his teapot pour him another cup

with a wave of his hand, as he paces across the paper-strewn floor.

Mumbling to himself, he goes over the spell once more

and absentmindedly drinks his tea, then his eyebrows shoot up.

Eureka! He strides over to his desk that groans

with its weight of books, finds a spare piece of parchment

 and pen and scribbles madly...and then with a bright look in his eyes,

he brandishes his arms and utters his magic sentence ... then moans.

"Nothing" His disappointment is crushing, he sits on his chair.

A pen dances over, he ignores it. A piece of parchment flies over,

as if to console him, he turns away. Suddenly, he knows what to do.

He stands, raises his arms and utters his command and it's there!

The dinner spell he has been working on all night has finally worked.