The secret gate

On the coolness of water and the magic of waves

Hello, I'm Josefin, a spinner of wool and crafter of words. In this space I practice being brave with my words to mold them into beauty. If you enjoy evocative writing about the little things in a big world, this space is for you. Bring your favourite tea mug and come sit beside me.

The ladies’ bath.

I'm walking along the shore. The air is crisp and the foliage new – leaves bewildered like newborn moose, staggering, wet and innocent. The hot water bottle in my backpack wraps my spine in a gentle glow. It’s accompanied by a towel, a notebook and a flask of tea.

There is a spring in my step as I tread the meandering path. She welcomes me with her finest rocks and roots. I don't meet many people, just a couple of joggers and some doggy walkers. We greet with just the right angle of smiles that is appropriate on a path in the outskirts of the city. I like to think there is an invisible door after which the custom approves of gentle greeting. It’s right underneath the tram bridge, right where the planted trees give way to the wild ones.

After 45 minutes I reach a public beach. I pass it though, and move on to a bushy and steep slope. A tall and solid fence goes from the shore and up the slope.

At the top of the hill I reach a well-hidden portal – a double gate with a laminated sign in several languages, inviting women only.

Ladies only behind the secret gate.

I unlatch the first door, close it and do the same with the second. In a single step I enter the ladies' nude bath, built in 1925, with changing huts, sun decks, benches and rain shelters in the style of its time. A lavatory and an outdoor shower. I look at the lake spreading out like a blanket between the city islands. She's calm today, with only the top centimeter of the surface gliding away with the wind.

A windshield, a bench and a clothes hook on the dock invite me to sit. I take off my shoes and enjoy the warmth of the wooden boards under my feet. The wind is chilly with its 10 °C [50 °F]. The water slightly colder, but I can't not get in. I undress and take one step down the ladder, one breath. Another step, another breath, a burst of excitement when my feet meet the coolness of the water on the third. When my feet land on the bottom of the lake the surface bobs around my waist. I walk further out for it to reach my neck. I place my hands behind my head to keep them out of the cold, and take in the body of water that I am now a part of.

We are silent together, the lake and I, yet in constant conversation. She moves gently underneath the breeze, chattering as if telling me about her day:

"You should have seen the waves I made yesterday!” I imagine her saying, “The perfect mid-size, not too pushy, but not insignificant either."

I look down at my feet on the pebbled sand and wonder what she thinks of the seabed.

"Well, it displays my pebbles nicely, but sometimes it really tickles, you know."

I watch the flock of puffy sails in the bay and she goes on to tell me about the newly launched boats in the harbour.

"They're like lambs this time of year really; cute and novel, but also skittish and irrational. I prefer them a little later when they’ve calmed down, more like grown and sensible sheep. I do like to toy with them, though", she continues, "giving them an extra gush when they least expect it. You've missed a spot on your back with the sunscreen, by the way".

I giggle as I rest my eyes the moving surface.

I stand there for a while and let the ripples come and go in a dance. I close my eyes and follow her lead as she holds me; my muscles squish to meet her advances, and soak when she retreats, attuned to her rhythm.

A passing boat interrupts the lull with a higher swell crossing. When the new pattern rolls toward me, I get ready to meet it. I accept the invitation and rise with the crests and relax in the troughs, let them twirl me in a new rhythm. It lands in body and mind and for a moment it’s just me and the water – rising, falling, dancing, breathing. Every undulation in its own strength, length and height, my every move mirroring hers until I become part of them, a tiny particle among others in the flow of the water.

This is why I do this every day of the year – to feel the rush of the cold, in handling the resistance in my body with a single focus on my breath, surrendering to the elements, inhabiting their strength.

The waves pass, and I fade out the amplitude of my movements. The trace of the boat is swallowed by the lake as she settles again. A couple of swans graze the surface on their flight across the bay. My feet stand steady on the sandy bottom, my legs moving softer as my gaze returns to the billowing surface.

I move back to the dock through the living, swirling dance floor and compose the last few bars where my own pattern breaks hers. I thank her for the bath and climb up the ladder.

The still stirring trail of sand in the water and the dark footsteps behind me on the dock tell a fleeting tale of my rendezvous with the elements. I get dressed in the sun, place my backpack on the bench and sit against it, grateful for the hot water bottle. I open my metal flask and dip a bag of sencha in it. A handknit cozy covers the flask and keeps the heat inside it. I enclose my stiff hands around the knit structure and let the liquid restore my body temperature from the inside. For a while I lose myself in watching the miniature waves licking the pebbled beach as a cat laps milk. Once my fingers are flexible enough, I bring out my notebook and write.

The squiggly lines from my pen resemble those rippling against the shore, all of them filled with stories waiting to be told.

A cuppa and all is well.

Usually, I meet lots of other bathers here and stay for a chat, but today only one other woman comes. I pack my things and climb the stairs and cast her a smile at the top. She nods back to me and walks down to the dock. With the reflections of the surface still shimmering on my back, I open the first door, latch it carefully behind me, take a breath and open the second.

I move forward along the path, echoing in my mind the dance I was invited to a moment and forever ago. I look at the foliage and for a second I wonder if the leaves have actually matured since I was last here less than half an hour ago. I meet new people and am genuinely surprised they don't see that magic has just happened, that the moss is a little greener, the air a little brighter. I smile from my toes up and don't care that I have reached civilization where unnecessary smiles are frowned upon. There is a spring in my step and a song in my heart, a joyful tune in Lake major.

P.S. My book Listen to the Wool will be published in November 2025 and is available for pre-order!