Hoarfrost mornings are cold because of the dampness in the air but they are also a thing of transforming wonder. It is a natural occasion where the air is caught and put on display, and everything in the world looks as though it was coated by the invisible night hand of Jack Frost’s relative.
I am out for the morning walk with the dogs just before sunrise; on this morning, still early enough for each of us to be painted with our breath and part way through the walk we are all tinged with the frost. The sheep are dusted with it, the trees look like they grew white leaves overnight and old fence lines are briefly transformed.
Hoarfrost mornings are not long lived. As soon as the suns warmth touches the world, the hoarfrost disperses.