Älvedans, ’fairy dance’ in Norwegian. Also their word for fog or mist. I think it is one of the most beautiful words on earth. Wrapped in black, my heavy fringe almost meets the cashmere python around my neck as i dissolve into the älvedans. There is something soothing about this morning. The mist lets me glide without expectation. No stark edge of light and shadow, no boundaries to try and squeeze into or indeed find oneself pushed into. A lockdowned morning in central London where one can perhaps sense a veiled enchanted garden, just beyond a dreamed up eleborate rusty iron gate. A figure suddenly appears ahead of me as…