Mixing Bowl

I felt like that pinch of salt that gets dropped into the mixing bowl as the other ingredients are swirling together.

Not realizing I was crossing a boundary, I stepped from the boardwalk into the sand and was immediately caught up in swirling temperatures.  Behind me the day was seventy-five degrees and sunny. Ahead of me a mist of much cooler air was drifting across the ocean toward shore.

And there on the first fifteen feet of beach closest to the boardwalk, the stiff evening breezes were weaving the temperatures together.

One stride from the boards I still had warm humid air around me, two strides further and a blast of chilly air nearly took my breath away. One giant step backward put warm on my back and cold air on my face.

Finally taking purposeful strides toward the ocean I passed from warm to cold and back again until, at the water's edge, the chilly air reigned supreme.

Ninety minutes later, heading back toward my car, I discovered the battle for ultimate supremacy continued with a new vengeance. Mini cyclones swirled sand around my feet while mixing warm and cold in the same space - my head and shoulders warm while the skin on the back of my hands rose in chilled goose bumps.  Had I weighed any less than I did, I might have been blended right into the mix.