The kitchen is full of Iris’s classmates. The doors to the garden are open and the children, laughing, run in and out. Iris’s teachers are sitting around the kitchen table, chatting. They are very relaxed. Iris is bustling to and fro and with the help of a couple of her closer friends, is making coffee for her teachers. They will also be given a plate of homemade biscuits.
I am upstairs, preparing the lesson for the all the children who eagerly await my brilliant teacherly mind imparting its wisdoms, pleasantly, kindly. The scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, blossoms from our tree blow in the open door.
Iris: That was my dream, Mama. Like it?
Me: Very much.
Iris: It's kind'a real except without the people.
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