It's quite strange how what I call small worlds can evoke childhood memories, the smell of an open coal fire always does the same thing and so does the smell of a bag of pear drop sweets.
As a child I used to love finding frozen puddles where the ice had formed a roof, tap it with your toe and it has a very particular twanging noise, then tap a little harder to see how strong it was and finally stand on it and with a crack, the ice painting had gone. It didn't seem to matter how big or small the frozen puddle was the cracking noise was always roughly the same.
Now I tend to walk round these little marvels and leave them undamaged so that I can look at them again when I am on the return leg of the walk.
Small worlds, wonderful.