When I was five years old, I used to spend much of my time sitting on the dock at our summer house. There I would let my small legs dangle over the side of it and look out onto the ocean at the beach across from me where many seagulls flew. The sun would beat down on my bare shoulders exposed by my new blue sundress. Some days I would bring a fishing rod out to the dock and my father would try to help me catch a fish. I distinctly remember one day when I had a fish on my hook and it got away. It was such a disappointment to me. Then, suddenly, I felt a pull on the rod and was able to catch a very small fish, after a long struggle. It felt like the biggest triumph in all my five years. But most of my days were spent swinging my legs over the dock, singing songs I had learned in kindergarten and curling my two ponytails with my finger.

Now it is nine years later. I have returned to visit this place where I used to spend my summer days, and to remember. It's hard to believe that it is noon, because the winter weather makes it so dark. As I walk out onto the dock, I have to pull my collar up to keep my face from freezing. I sit down on the same spot where I used to sit when I was five. My long legs almost hit the frozen waters now, whereas they just barely used to reach over the dock. The dock has worn with age although the structure is the same. I can see the beach across from me, with many crows flying about. The ocean's waves cannot be heard, for it is frozen and still. The sun is long gone beneath the dark winter sky. The things that are the same are in different forms now, including myself. I am the same person but I have grown, physically and mentally. I have experienced more triumphs and disappointments and now I am different. But the same little girl must be there, somewhere. n