There are winter days that feel cold. And then there are winter days that make you question whether you somehow woke up much farther north than expected. Today was one of those days. Our beloved local beach, the one that usually means sand between your toes and salty wind in your face, is slowly transforming into what looks like the North Pole.
Ella and I spent four full hours out there. Four hours surrounded by nothing but ice, snow, wind, and the kind of silence that only deep winter can create.
The temperature was minus eight degrees Celsius, and you could feel every bit of it the moment you stepped out of the car. The air was sharp and clear, almost metallic in your lungs. But we were prepared. Thick jackets, wool layers, proper boots, gloves, hats. Once you are dressed right, even minus eight becomes manageable. Bracing, yes. But beautiful.
The sea itself has turned into a frozen sculpture gallery. Huge slabs of ice have been pushed onto the shore, driven by wind and pressure from the water behind them. Some of these ice floes are taller than Ella. They are stacked on top of one another like shattered glass frozen mid explosion. It looks as if an invisible giant has taken the ocean, cracked it into pieces, and thrown it onto land.
Up close, the details are mesmerizing. The surfaces are not smooth and simple. They are layered, ridged, and twisted. Some pieces are crystal clear, others milky white with trapped air bubbles inside. Snow has settled into every crack and hollow, highlighting the shapes like fine powder on a sculpture. In some places the wind has carved delicate lines into the snow, creating soft waves that mirror the frozen sea behind them.
It is hard to believe that this is the same beach where we walk in summer heat.
Ella, of course, was in her element. As a Leonberger, cold weather is not something she tolerates. It is something she celebrates. Her thick coat makes her look even bigger and fluffier in winter, and the cold seems to fuel her energy. While I carefully stepped over icy ridges, she bounded across them with confidence. Snow flying. Tail high. Pure joy.
At one point, the tiny neighbor boy joined us. Seeing him next to Ella is always slightly comical. He is small, bundled up in layers of winter clothing, and Ella towers over him like a gentle bear. But there is something magical about their dynamic. No fear. No hesitation. Just laughter and movement.
They ran together across the frozen sand. The boy threw small chunks of snow, and Ella chased them as if they were the greatest treasure on earth. She lowered herself playfully, paws stretched forward, then burst into a sprint. Watching a large dog move with such lightness is always impressive. Watching her do it on a frozen beach that looks like the Arctic makes it unforgettable.
Despite the bitter cold, time passed quickly. The light in winter is different. It is lower, softer, but somehow brighter when it reflects off ice. Everything sparkled. Even the shadows had a blue tone to them. There were hardly any other people around. Just a few distant figures, equally bundled up, moving slowly along the edge of this frozen world.
Four hours later, cheeks were red, fingers slightly numb despite gloves, and boots dusted with snow. But there is a certain satisfaction that comes from being outside in conditions like this. It feels earned. It feels real.
And as always, the perfect ending awaited us. After our long adventure, we headed to LEO. Walking into warmth after hours in minus eight degrees is a special kind of luxury. The windows were fogged from the heat inside. The atmosphere was cozy and inviting. Good food, warm drinks, and that pleasant tiredness that only fresh air can create.
Ella settled down calmly, content and exhausted in the best possible way. I thawed out slowly, replaying the images of giant ice slabs and sparkling snow in my mind.
Our beach may be turning into the North Pole for now. But days like this remind me why I love winter. The raw beauty. The quiet power of nature. The joy of a dog who thrives in the cold. The laughter of a child running across frozen sand.
It was not just a walk. It was a full winter expedition.
A truly grand Sunday.
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