Hot or Cold?

“Holy shit it’s hot!” The abnormally bright May sun makes me reflect back on just a few weeks ago I was able to walk outside with the protection of a hoodie and still feel the cool breeze through the cloth. The last frost of the season was May 16. It is now May 26, and it has reached a startling 88 °F. I sit facing south on the bank of the chagrin river in my black lawn chair. The sun rages against my bare chest and I can feel my skin beginning to burn at the moment. Drips of sweat run down my body, starting at my neck and rolling off my back. I sprayed myself with a thick layer of sunscreen before sitting down but after about an hour I can tell my sweat has washed it away. I pull my baseball cap down over my face in an attempt to protect my face. For the first time in multiple months, I pray for the sun to fall below the tree line and a breeze to pass through however my prayers go unanswered. At this point, to avoid more severe burns I have to options: lug all of my equipment (a foldable chair that is surprisingly awkward to carry, a cooler bag filled with water that has straps too long to carry by my side comfortably, but not long enough to go over my shoulder, and a small synch sack that is packed full with my hammock, Into the Wild, my journal, and many other unnecessary accessories) or sit in the water. I choose the latter option, not realizing that, without a towel, I would be forced into the former choice, but I would be soaked with sandy water. I cockily begin to walk into the water. Where the water meets the shore, the sand turns into thick mud that, with every second I sink further into. This does not faze me – I had already lost a shoe inside the muck once, but luckily I was able to retrieve it – as I am careful not to panic with the sinking of my foot, but to let it happen and slowly remove my foot as I prepare for the next step. The thick sludge quickly thins out into a layer of just a few inches followed directly by a hard rock bottom. This creates a strange sensation on the sole of my bare feet. The mud acts as a cushion so that when I reach the solid river floor, I am nearly floating on top of it. I reach a depth of my waist and, while trying to find a convenient place to sink further into the water, I trip over a large rock that nearly sends me headfirst into the water. After regaining my balance I get the last laugh with the boulder by sitting right atop it. Water brushes past me at about mid-torso, and I immediately understand how cold the water it. No, I am not cold, for the heat from the sun keeps me warm enough, but I can tell the river has not yet warmed up given how early it is into the warm weather. I let my heart rate slow down, I close my eyes, and I let myself become part of the water.