Magic carpet ride

In a week chock full of Jack Frosts best handiwork today took the biscuit. The gossamer, crystalline scales of frost that covered all the vegetation on the far side of my Sunday ride were works of art. Everything was dusted white. The fields I rode past glinted like crushed diamonds. Every branch or frond I brushed past exploded with perfect pixie dust. The water froze in my water bottle. Two toes were numb by the time I got home and I discovered a couple of other chinks in my winter riding armour, but it was pretty, so eye-wateringly pretty out there today. It even sounded exotic, as I fizzed along on a blanket of thick frost. While containing the basic ingredients of the ice-fest a couple of weeks ago this magic carpet of frost offered plenty of grip and even dulled the popping of my studded tyres. It was quiet enough to hear the squeaky chain that I'd forgotten to lube...