Before the sight is dazzled by the bright daylight

Those enchanted mornings where the mist is rising so slowly and the sun stubbornly shines through the foggy meadows. I easily get stuck there, where I don't distinguish the trees from the background or the track from the meadow. I am caught in the middle of non-existence where the day has not risen but yet the night is over. 

The world isn't limited by outlines or boundaries and any dream becomes possible. As if the misty, foggy morning holds reality in her embrace, before the sight is dazzled by the bright daylight.