When I was young at the lake, I remember sitting at the edge of our dock as I dangled my feet over the end, into the cool, cold, refreshing water. I swished my feet around in circles as if I was stirring a pot. I remember feeding a gray fish party mix, and how the fish spat it out. Yet in distaste that same fish would come back to visit our dock like we were old friends. I remember ripping the leaves of a green cedar tree, and throwing them into the lake and pretending I was making a potion.

When I was young at the lake, I would hear music from a nearby dock, people, laughing, swimming, talking. I smelled fresh air from our opening at the dock, breathing it in, reminding me of a nice day at the beach. When eating candy by the lake for a nice treat, it tasted like a sugary fruit explosion in my mouth. I swished my hand in the cool water as I watched it make ripples in the water. I remember how that small action of swishing the water rippled across the whole lake.

When I was young at the lake, I felt happy to have my own space to run around in. It felt freeing to take moments to myself to run, swim, play. I was always curious about the old outhouse, which had a moon shape carved on the top. I always wondered what was inside, if there were bugs or if it was still in use. Somehow, the biggest mystery of the lake for me was that outhouse. It made me
excited when I got to the lake. I remember always feeling free, and joyful and excited to be there.

At the lake, I always remember enjoying being there, and being able to hang out with my sister at the dock. I remember throwing tiny pebbles in the lake with her, pretending we were going to fill the whole lake with rocks. Running around, playing tag as the breeze blew across my face, I remember so many things. One clear thing I do remember is that I always had a fantastic time. I was happy when I was there, and I knew that each time, I would continue to make good memories.