When I was young at the lake, I remember driving to my grandpa's cottage. It felt like an eternity waiting to arrive. I spent the whole six hour drive counting each minute passing by, as my eyes slowly dropped. The only thing keeping me awake was knowing that in a few hours I would be at that cottage again. I'd be back at the pond, bonding with the water, with the animals, and with the peace the water brings me.

When I was young at the lake, I sat on the edge of the old, creaky, wooden dock, connected to my grandpa's cottage, watching all the orange, tiny, beautiful fish. Occasionally bigger, different coloured fish would appear. The turtles on the logs, the canoes and boats attached to the dock, and the slimy seaweed flowing with the waves from the wind brought me peace. I remember sitting criss crossed on the unbalanced piece of wood, as the reflection of the water glistened in
my eyes.

When I was young at the lake, I watched the fish with my dad. As they swam along I could hear the deep, comforting, ecstatic voice of my dad shouting when he saw a big fish jumping out of the water. I remember hearing the calm splashes of the waves, and the sound of toes kicking the water. The water felt oddly calming, slightly touching my toes mixing with the slight breeze on the hot summer day.

At the lake, I always remember how I felt at night, the happiness, excitement and energy overflowing my body. I remember the calmness, peace, and joy slowly creeping in from the fact that this small event gave me time to spend with my dad. The moments that were meant to waste time, be carefree, turned into one of my greatest memories.