Normally this time of year there would have already been a month of sun and heat that urged the plants into bloom, enticed those less-familiar with the typical regional weather patterns into packing away their sweaters and planning camping trips and outings to the lake; only then, after the uninitiated began to believe that summer had truly arrived, would the days cool down again and bring the rain. False summer in May, a second spring in June, and then perhaps the weather would truly brighten up in time for July.
So far this year there has only been cold and rain, punctuated by a day here and there where the sun chooses to shine as a meteorological practical joke before the thunderstorms roll back in. Somehow, even amidst the unseasonable chill, the humidity makes the air feel stagnant and too warm. Too thick. It wraps itself around her like a boa constrictor, tightening relentlessly until she feels like she can’t breathe. Her skin prickles and itches no matter how many fans she turns on.
She finds that the best remedy for the humidity, funnily enough, is to go near water. Moving water, ideally; crisp and cool, nature’s air conditioner. The river lends its power as well as its name to the city and runs through the center and beyond. Downtown sprung up along its banks two centuries ago, looking down at the falls from natural cliffs and crossing its rushing breadth with a series of bridges that arc across the landscape. But it’s not safe to access the water in the middle of the city. It flows too fast, with too many locks and dams that tamper with the current. No. Her favorite way to touch the river is in the state park just a few miles down the highway that runs behind her neighborhood. A popular spot, often crowded, but by late afternoon there’s usually just a few folks hanging around. Mostly people staying at the campground, and skittish hermits like her seeking a little relief- from the weather, from the city, from any aspect of life that ails the soul.
She wouldn’t normally hike in a dress, but her skin is so sticky and desperate for relief that she can’t bring herself to put on jeans, shorts, or even underwear. Standing at the top of the trail in soft casual cotton and sneakers without socks, she is anything but fashionable, but at least she can already feel the breeze winding around her legs. The hike down the hill is a little steep. Her steps are small, cautious, and she stabilizes herself on the occasional tree branch or boulder lining the path. Sunlight fights valiantly to break through the clouds, weaving threads of gold where the overcast sky grows thin before vanishing again behind the dark gray veil. If the sun were visible in the sky she would see that late afternoon is shifting into evening; the park closes at dusk, but the sun has been setting later and later these days as the planet tilts and swings its way towards solstice in the Northern Hemisphere. She has plenty of time.
The river is fast here, too, and pockmarked with large basalt boulders throughout, mementos of the area’s Hephaestian origins. But the water winds its way through the canyon and swirls into shallow pools here and there, creating miniature beaches of gravel and sand where the intrepid might choose to swim, or at least dip their toes and cast a line for fish. The first of such beaches is at the bottom of the hill, just to the right of where the path becomes a large suspension bridge that spans the width of the river. She ignores this beach; it’s the easiest one to access, and so usually the most popular, and today (sure enough) it is occupied by a family with several small children. She smiles to herself and crosses the bridge, stopping in the middle for just a moment to look out over the water, look up into the sky in hopes of spotting an eagle or an osprey, then continues across.
The next beach is larger, situated under a picnic area with a broad wooden pavilion and several tables. She bypasses this place too. She sweats from her hike in the thick moist air, but it will be worth it. There is a beach a little way down the hiking trail and a few hundred feet off the path that people seldom visit, one that is more secluded than the others in the park; more sand than gravel, tucked between a thick stand of trees and a large outcropping of rock. It’s a bit of a hassle to get to and not immediately visible from the path or from across the river. In all the times she’s made the trek to the spot, she’s never encountered another person either coming or going. She moves off the path and follows a faint trail down to the riverbank, winding her way through trees and wild jasmine, fallen logs and rocks, the sound of the water growing louder with each step. Cool air rises off the river and teases her skin, urging her forward until she clambers over one last rock and sets foot on the beach. Finally, relief. She grins and kicks off her shoes, makes her way to the water’s edge, breathes deeply. Steps in.
In this part of the country, lakes and rivers never really “warm up” in the summer. The glacial melt runs its way down to the wild dark ocean, both source and destination agreeing to maintain a sharp chill throughout. Her submerged feet threaten to cramp at the cold and she gasps, but the air is crisp for the first time in days. No way she’s stepping out now. She walks out into the river, careful to stay where the water pools and slows; at the deepest part it only comes up just above her knees, not even high enough to reach the hem of her dress, but it’s enough. The cold shoots up her legs, through her core, down her arms; for the first time in weeks, that claustrophobic feeling she can’t escape is gone. The breeze moves through her hair and she sighs, closing her eyes. For a moment she is an extension of the river, part of nature, fully grounded in the earth.
But just for a moment.
That irritating prickle is back. Even as her skin erupts in goosebumps from the cold, the sheen of sticky sweat remains. Her arms, her back, every crease and crevice of her body tingles with the need to submerge into the river. An absurd urge. The park is public, and she didn’t bring a towel; besides, the air is too cool. She’d be miserable once she got out.
Except that there’s nobody around… And it would be such a simple thing to pull off her dress and take off her bra. She would only need a moment to sink into the water. It would be too cold to stay in for any longer. And the sun is starting to make a few breaks through the clouds; there, shining on a large rock on the beach, the perfect place to sit and drip dry…
Swiftly, before she can change her mind, she steps out of the water and pulls her dress up over her head. Tossing it onto the beach, she follows suit with her bra. Standing there in the sand she realizes that she’s never been nude in public before; fear and excitement and shuddering arousal twist up her spine, and she rushes back into the river as her stomach fills with butterflies. Wades out to the deep part, back where the water flows around her knees. Takes a deep breath, and sinks her body down.