Two Wheel Tuesday: Crowns of Pearl

Forty-five degrees, and that was near the water, so not the coldest part of the ride. Over by the airfield, that is where the cold sinks and settles, where you try not to breathe, anything to keep the icy fingers from gaining access to your body core. It does make pedaling more difficult. Not to mention living, so you try to limit the deep breathing. Not thinking beforehand that your balaclava might be a good idea, it is the best you can do. 

The water witches in the lake cast orbs of light skyward, glowing tails disappearing beneath the surface. Few spells breach the bulwark of trees along the shoreline, few explode against the gathering cold confined by the same wall of green, though blasts and stealthy tendrils of frigid breath search for gaps along the line.

"I know of the leafy paths that the witches take
Who come with their crowns of pearl and their spindles of wool,
And their secret smile, out of the depths of the lake;
I know where a dim moon drifts, where the Danaan kind
Wind and unwind dancing when the light grows cool
On the island lawns, their feet where the pale foam gleams..." 
(The Withering of the Boughs, W. B. Yeats)