The winter can be a difficult time for warm-weather surfers like myself. To remain active in the cold, I pull on spikes and run the trails near my home. Though the freezing air may nip at me through my fleece, and form crystals on my eyelashes and eyebrows, it is a welcome alternative to the frozen ocean.

I tune into the sounds of the woods while I run. The hollow drumming of a Pileated Woodpecker; the leaf shuffling of an overweight Eastern Grey Squirrel; the dripping of melted snow from tree branch to forest floor. Yet I often find my mind wandering—ambling ahead to future July waters. To half-baked sunsets over the beach houses. To the night creeping up behind me. To the next a-frame.

In my mind’s eye, I picture an Atlantic Sturgeon leaping into the air. As the water sprays up around it, I feel like the modern, female version of Henry David Thoreau. I am immersed in the waters of the Atlantic, surrounded by beautiful creatures just as complex as myself. I am living out my own version of Cape Cod. Diving down, tasting salt, and submerging in the cleansing water of the Atlantic.

The roots jutting up from the ice and mud bring me back to reality. I do my best to hop between them, my ankles and knees twisting about in an interpretive dance. Reaching a bridge, I scan the marsh, hoping to spot a Common Raven or Great Blue Heron. Nothing flies above, but I can make out a white and black mass lying on the Cordgrass just beyond the bridge. I pause and peer over the railing.

There, lounging without a care, is the largest seal I have ever seen. It is almost six feet long—even taller than I—and girthsome, like a furry, meaty slug. I stand on the bridge to admire it, and I can tell it is eyeing me, too. Even amongst the waves, in their element, I have never seen a seal like this. Later that day I learned that what I saw was a Harp Seal, and that it was on a temporary migration south from the Arctic. I concluded that he must love warmer waters, just like me.

The following morning, I made the bridge my run’s destination, hoping that I would see my furry slug friend again. But, to my disappointment, he was gone. As I looked out at the place where he had been lying, I spotted a Bald Eagle flying over the marsh. Turning back to head home, I spied an Eastern Chipmunk popping its bulging cheeks out of a trailside fallen tree. With every step, I felt that I noticed more and more. On previous runs, I had been so fixated on the warmth of the future, I did not settle fully into the beauty of the present. I had been ignoring the truth: even outside of the ocean, even in the depths of winter, nature will always charm and captivate me.