The room is warm and very quiet. It is partly underground, like a basement room would be. It is much longer in one dimension than it is wide. I am in a big brass bed; there is a radiator next to it, the source of much of the warmth. Along the other wall there is an old desk, with a manual typewriter and an electric clock, and a blotter. There is one large chair with chrome arms and legs, and a rust colored chenille fabric seat.
The forest is very bright and very green, many active animals and birds are making noises and busy with their day. The trees are leafy with new growth, so it is spring. Mostly they are aspen trees.
The path is steep and narrow, but not dangerous. It is overgrown in spots, but easy to find. It is well traveled but no one is on it at present.
The water is natural, and very fast. It is a waterfall in fact, not very high, but in a narrow cataract so I can't see past it. It is very pure and very cold, but absolutely pure and fresh.
It is a camping cup, clear lexan plastic, very clean and new, no scratches.
It is a small brass antique key, with a tiny hollow barrel and a decorative filigree on top. It unlocks a cabinet built by my grandfather over a century ago, when he was a young man.