When I was younger, I lived by a lake. I caught my first glimpse of amazing things. I could see catfish and tadpoles in its murky depths. I even spotted a lillypad or two. There were hummingbirds, butterflies and flowers galore. Buttercups, violets, and dandelions were my favorites. I would place buttercups to my chin on sunny days. The yellow residue/reflection that remained I believed was given to me by the kiss of a fairy prince. I would ever so gently blow the dandelions and make a wish and I knew in my heart that the breeze would carry the seeds to heaven. I would give handfuls of violets to my mother and love to watch her smile. Every spring, an island would appear in our lake. Sometimes, my friends and I searched for buried treasure. We never found any but, beautiful rocks of different shapes and colors sufficed. We would take turns crossing the island and exploring the other side of the lake. We never got too far because there was bracken. One day, we decided to go on an adventure through the woods surrounding our neighborhood. We followed a trail that lead us through trees, pesky bugs, and a sky that seemed to stretch on forever. About 1 1/2 miles into our adventure, the sky became less visible and the trees took on menancing and eerie appearances. We quickly turned around and running retraced our steps out of there. As we exited, the sunshine kissed our skin with warmth and we were assured that we survived and made a pact to never do that again. We were still in store for one more surprise. In the lining of our jackets, there were bugs galore. We screamed to the top of our lungs. Our jackets were shed in a hurry and left in the grass. Okay, there were only about four bugs in each of our jackets. Hey, but it seemed like a hundred.