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I passed through that little village high up on the mountain, more than five thousand meters high, and besides the cold weather there was something that made me stop.
A forest with trees of green foliage unsuitable for those heights that appreciates embracing the houses farthest from the road and seemed to go down the slope of the mountain.
I stopped and naively asked a passer-by pointing to the place:
-What do you see there?
The man, in his fifties, looked at me between surprised and confused, showing me that it was not common for someone to arrive there.
-That's the enchanted forest. Don't you ever go in there because you never go out.
Now it was me who was surprised by the answer.
I was actually going through there looking for a shorter way to get to my destination, a moor where we would gather a group of friends to take photographs that would adorn an article from a prestigious nature magazine, in the background we hoped that they could be published in National Geographic.
So my professional camera was my companion and as a cowboy ready to draw his gun, I stopped and looking for a place where the zoom of it captured the most, I found a small hill from where I took my shots.
Then I sat in the hood of the vehicle to check them and I found the surprise that the mentioned forest that at first sight was present did not appear in the photos.
I remembered the name given and with my adrenaline running through my whole body I decided to stay in the place and explore the mysterious place.
I offered a good amount of money to a local to let me sleep at his house but he did not accept the payment but did put me up in it.
In the morning, before the warnings of the inhabitants of the house where I stayed, I took my backpack with everything I had prepared for the excursion and I walked towards the forest.
Like a hunting rifle waiting for a prey, my latest generation digital camera was plywood on my shoulder.
The first thing I found was a wooden bridge that allowed me to cross the small river.
The water was crystal clear and small pink fish could be seen swimming in it.
I took several pictures and as I tried to zoom in on the beauty of a fish whose skin was half orange and half red, something obstructed my lens.
At first it looked like a dragonfly but when I managed to focus it well I almost fell into the river of surprise.
I was a little fairy, who reminded me of the popular Tinker Bell and who could communicate with me without speaking.
-What are you doing here?
I rubbed my eyes thinking of some kind of effect produced by the height but the question kept tormenting my brain.
-I took pictures - I answered.
--It's impossible for you to do it, nothing that's here exists for humans, check your camera.
-I did so, and certainly there was only green grass on them.
--If you cross this bridge you will never come back.
--What about that side?
--Nothing that interests you is our home.
-The home of the fairies?
-As you wish to call us.
-Are they good or bad?
-We do not harm anyone, we only feed the fantasy of those who have a pure soul. You once believed in us but contaminated your heart by losing faith.
For an instant I transported myself to childhood and a smile surfaced in my mouth.
Suddenly I stumbled, fell from swords and my head hit a stone.
My sight became blurred and in the semi-unconsciousness I looked for the fairy but it was gone, neither the bridge nor the river.
I lost consciousness.
When I opened my eyes I was in the bed of the house with my plywood camera on my shoulder.
I checked it and there were only photographs of the sky, the grass and the trees.
Would it have been a dream?
Twenty years have passed since then and I haven't told anyone, nor have I dared to go back to that village to look for answers.