It is warm under the comforter, but cold in the room. Not prohibitive, but the sort which makes one value the dozy warmth. There are books in the room, with oak bookcases. Light comes through the window, which blind has been raised before bed to let starlight in.

It's dark, with large, gnarled trees everywhere. One can't see where one tree's branches begin and another's end. It's both threatening and alluring.

I can see the path, but it is not a well-cut one. There are breaks and roots sticking up. Footing isn't treacherous, exactly, but it'll be a walk where you pay attention to your footing or twist an ankle. The path's width varies greatly. Some places it's as much as two feet wide. In others, as little as six inches.

The variation in width suggests that the subject had periods of great freedom intersped with periods of heavy restrictions.

It's a thin stream or place where a small river narrows. There are rocks jutting up, perfect for skipping across, while stepping in the water occasionally. The water is clear, cold, and very refreshing to cup my hands and drink.

It's an ornate cup. Think a grail. Gold, or gold-seeming, with jewels embedded in it.

It's large, a skeleton key with odd points coming off it. Old, not tarnished exactly, but well-used. It'll open an old house, certainly. One with interesting rooms.

In this case however, the subject mentions that the house has “interesting rooms,” which could imply that the subject expects some surprises from the career.