Daisy on realism

Daisy sits just out of reach. Come here! I say. I wave at her with the lead. But, even as I do so, I know we will not meet. Because, in order to reach her, I am going to have to cross half of the distance between us, and then half of the remaining distance, and then half of that. And so on. I’m never going to make it. And even though the lead is a long one (5 metres and retractable), it’s not going to stretch across an infinity. Instead, we look at each other, cautiously. We survey the abyss. In a minute, Daisy will trot over and buff my hand. In a minute, she will say something ironic about how I think she isn’t really there. In a minute, we’ll be back in a story – you know, the real one. I wait for the minute to pass.