Total Miles: 1,463.9
Femundsmarka National Park – September 8, 2016
The lake and sky look the same in the fog. The still water catches the grey and reflects it back on itself, swallowing the horizon, turning the world into a colorless canvas stretched in front of my eyes.
I stand alone on the shore. My feet cling to the last edge of rocks as if they were a cliff over an endless void. I stare into the nothingness of it, searching for something to hold onto, to place in the world, but find only grey.
The air is still and silent. Nothing moves. The only sound is my breath rising and falling in my chest.
I could believe anything standing in that magic-filled fog. The old stories of Odin and Thor, fairies and goblins hiding in the trees, giant trolls rising out of boulders, any could walk out of the mist and step into existence as the fog blurs the lines of reality.
I stare out, letting my mind drift across the grey canvas. The morning sun will burn through the fog soon. It will heat the land and send wind ripping across the earth. It will bring white clouds, blue skies, and the burning colors of fall. It will transform the lake back into just another lake.
But I caught it in one of those moments that you can’t plan. Beautiful mountain tops, stunning fjords, waterfalls falling from high cliffs, they are easily marked on a map. There are signed trails right to them. This is different. This is just an ordinary place caught in the moment when the world conspires to let a bit of magic seep in.
It won’t last. It isn’t meant too. It is the wild’s gift to those who wander, those lucky enough to stumble into it before it disappears, before the rocks are just rocks and the lake just a lake and no one would stop and stare in awe.