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I’m on hands on knees, tattered rag in hand, conjuring partially chewed bananas from kitchen floor cracks.
Mess-maker-in-chief smiles on from lofty perch, pressing perfect plump toes into my piled high hair.
It’s what we do – three times a day.
Except this time, I look up.
And up, and up, and up, from my humble hunkering beneath the planked table into a wide bright sea of painted sky.
And then I look the other way.
Smile of God, seen only from here, scrubbing breakfast on tired knees.

Nothing compares to the view from here.

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