Have you ever seen the sunrise from over the mountains?

When the entire sky is a blushing pink rose and the hills are pale lavender streaks backlight by its brightness?

When the sun is invisible, still too far below the horizon to see - except for the rare moments when it will peek out from between peaks, a shy, blood orange globe that calls to mind stories of golden chariots and nights filled with ancient magics.

And when the fog blankets the hills, dove grey and delicate? Why, the magic is still alive then, granting everything profane a touch of the eternal mysteries. Elves cross those mist-shrouded mountains on their way to the Undying Lands beyond the sea at the western edge of the world. Dwarves search for long lost treasures - and long lost homes - in those hills.

The magic disappears once the sun finally rises above the peaks. Nothing sacred can survive in the light of day. But, so long as dawn lasts, the magic remains, and all the stories are true, and the world is a wondrous place still.
*sigh* such beautiful imagery, wonderful descriptions *wants to be there in that moment instead of here at work*