She wandered the wilderness for hours calling her own name, even though it was the most popular from her birth year, based on a movie of a mermaid transformed into a woman struggling with her own identity. Perhaps the woman knew that the park bus tour was simply searching for the meaning of the true nature of being. Maybe the top of the world knows a thing or two about tickling the senses with anticipation. Quite possibly the notion of identity is worth searching for. The ticking clock was palpable toward nightfall. It was a metaphor for her career, love life, or family. It was a glacier sliding toward the bay or a bird warbling to an empty nest. It was a ring tone of her mother contacted by authorities, or simply that there is a limit to the time free from oneself. It is the understanding that as long was we try to name everything we cannot control the results: daughter, mother, mountain of ice rumbling a response.