Grandmothers old clock

When I was sitting on a toilet pot, then Wilma had a need to come on my lap. And after some of whining she got there. Its better to have piece on a pot than whining somewhere else. And when Wilma was on my lap, this little daughter of mine noticed something...

On a wall there was a clock. This old and with old-looking font. Tic-tac-tic-tac. As if grandmothers old seconds where in a room. World was suddenly still. And Wilmas small eyeballs as well.

She stared at that time-machine. There must have been something attractive in it. She forgot tears of the past and even my lap. She was staring the clock and reached her hand...

...reached her hand as far as possible. As if she was the God on the Michelangelos painting, between the clouds and bad angels. But Wilmas hand is actually very short. Shorter than measurestick (ruler). But distance between her and the clock is more than a meter.

Time is moving tic-tac. I am still sitting. But wilma is reaching and reaching, and reaching.

Only small people can do with their big dreams like this. Reach out their small hand to hopeless reaches, never getting them. Always hoping and believing. Old people in a same time can sit on a pot and even not notice the clock in front of them.

If you had a chance to dream, where would you reach your hand? Even if it was a long as two or three measuresticks.