And the fairies were dancing at dawn

We were on our way to the Fiordlands in the early morning hour, when we suddenly noticed the mist on the meadow along the road. And we found ourselves in a mystic and fairytale-like world of spider-webs, dew and sunbeams catching the fog through the trees. 

The morning mist was slowly rising, while the trees were shining of dewdrops in the enchanted grove. And if you waited long enough, you could sense the hulder hide behind the trees with her heart full of secrets. Moss and lichen covered the tiny branches and made the forest magically golden. A hidden place where the fairies were dancing at dawn and therefore impossible to find on any map from any time.

The spiderwebs reflected the sunlight and showed the new day the prettiest of patterns woven into perfection. Maybe this is where silver threads are spun and our fantasy can sing, where we can hear tiny bells when the dew drips. We were on our way somewhere else, when we just had to stop and embrace the fairytale. And it suddenly became so clear, in the middle of the magic, that life is so much grander than any single decision it contains.