At seven in the morning, a young girl in a white shirt stood on a stool in the kitchen.
She wore a string of colorful knots on her hand, a man's shirt, shorts, bare feet, and her face was cute and delicate, her short hair neatly trimmed and shoulder length.
She stood on her tiptoes, trying to reach the butter jar at the top of the hanging cabinet.
But no matter how she straightened her body and stretched her arm, she couldn't reach the jar.
She stopped to look around, found a wooden low stool in the hallway, stepped out of her slippers, and brought the stool back to place it on top of the chair she was using.
Once again, she looked up at the daunting butter jar, removed her slippers, stepped her fair feet onto the stool, and started reaching up like she was climbing a cliff.
Her fingers stretched as far as possible forward, her tiptoed feet reaching as high as they could go.
