Darning

A wizard's work was never done; he was never bored (and never really at rest). In his cave by the salt sea, he listened to his stomach growl and promised it a worthy lunch. "More is needed here before we can leave it for even a moment," he said (to the stomach and the apathetic air), and then he sighed. It went on for miles and miles and untold miles, filling the cave to its very depths and heights - so much so that the wizard refused to look at it anymore and marvel. His needlework and his spellwork were right on the edge of not being fast enough at the darning to stop the fraying. He sighed again. "Perhaps I should eat breakfast after all," he whispered. "I mean ... if there's anyone alive that has job security, it's me. What could go wrong?" He knew better than to ask that, but it had slipped out (traveling at the speed of breath along the wads and knots of the world's damaged underpinning).