Near the end of summer, I realized that I had quite the collection of creatures that once existed in the mind of a five-year-old. This storyteller arrived in my class with all sorts of tales of adventure and discovery. Because of genuine interest, I would take time to sit, leaning slightly forward, and listen. While telling his tales, his fingers would be cutting shapes from colored paper, gluing bits, making more cuts, and maybe coloring a few. At some point, he would arrive at what I would assume to be the almost-end of his tale for the day. Almost, because I noticed that my storyteller would not really provide an obvious ending but would pause for a sip from his water bottle, or stand abruptly and move near the AC and that would be that. Sometimes unsure if he was actually finished telling his story, I would let a minute settle before I brought out a picture book and proceed with our Reading Class. Anyone working effectively (and respectfully) with young children know that it takes