the sauna’s heat envelops us in a thick, suffocating embrace, the air dense with a pungent mix of sweat and eucalyptus. each breath feels like a labour, the oppressive warmth pressing in from all sides. the door creaks occasionally, letting in a fleeting rush of cool, chlorinated air from the pool outside. its synthetic blue attempts to mask the grimy detritus below – drifting toilet paper, forgotten jewellery, and shards of swimming lessons. this vivid blue contrasts sharply with the sauna’s steamy interior, a juxtaposition that makes me yearn for my own private pool and sauna. yet it’s precisely these clashing shades of others’ worlds that keep me returning to this place.
i settle in the corner, my presence a quiet, meditative island amidst the others’ frenetic energy. their voices clash like discordant notes, each eager to eclipse the other in a display of competitive endurance. their boisterousness is a harsh contrast to my serene observation of the shearer’s understated presence.
the shearer reclines nearby, his singlet drenched, clinging to his skin like a sodden shroud. sweat trickles from his brow, merging with the steam in a visual testament to his labour. he’s young, and his anxiety is evident in his rapid, shallow breaths, but there’s a reflective calm in how he endures the heat, a depth that stands out against the backdrop of competitive voices.
he speaks with a fluidity that belies the weight of his words. his stories of shearing, the monotony, and the expansive solitude of the fields offer a tactile reminder of his life beyond this sauna. his voice, animated yet contemplative, creates a space where he can be engaged and reflective.
the others’ restless energy saturates the room, their competitive spirits turning the sauna into a battleground of textures. they flaunt their flashy water bottles, status symbols punctuating their endless quest to outlast each other. their egos have figured out how to manipulate the thermostat, hurling chilled water to jolt the temperature from a steady 60 degrees to a blistering inferno. i feel the change immediately; my eyes dry out, and a sharp sting from my piercings begins to prickle. the icy cold shower just outside the door offers a stark, biting contrast, a reminder of the world beyond this sweltering haven.
the shearer and i, though strangers, share a common grounding, our consciousness shaped by the heat and the lives outside these walls. we maintain our anonymity, each respecting the other’s space and stories without intrusion. it’s this unspoken connection, a mutual appreciation for the tranquillity amid the chaos, that keeps me returning. in the sauna, our paths intersect in this close-knit, heated realm, where our separate narratives blend into a silent, shared understanding.