Musty, becurtained with dust-starred scarlet drapes where a thin sliver of sunlight comes through. It's early morning, six or seven or so, neutrally warm with the warmth of the body that had slept here. I have a blanket wrapped around me but am fully clothed in old jeans, grandpa shirt. I am also wearing my spectacles. I feel tired but don't think a hangover is involved. The room is furnished in an Edwardian plush, unfortunately, but there is a comfortable feel to it that might be shattered if I pulled the curtains back, so I stay put for a while. I wish there were something to eat.
It's a lush green deciduous forest, late Spring, Ireland or Wales. Green with rain that has fallen often but isn't falling at present. It's still early morning, there's a light cloud cover through the treetops but the promise of warmth and sunshine later. The trees are close together but there is still comfortable room to swing my arms. I wonder where the room has gone, but reflect that the forest is after all a fine place to be. The air is good.
The way through the woods is a natural path between the trees which often hid it. It seems more to have evolved from the tracks of animals and, yes, people, although it's difficult to see what sort of footprints have been made since they were muddied and mixed together by the last rains. The suggestion is that not too many people have come by this way, but enough to maintain the pathiness of the path. I tend to have to step from side to side to follow the path as the trees tend to fuddle the way. It's tricky to see very far ahead, but I'm not too pressed to do so.
It is a brook which ran to a low overhang (about one metre high) and now dribbles over this overhang into a small pool from where it flows on into the sedge of the forest floor. The stream after the pool is not very visible, not deep, and is so mixed up with the vegetation that it would be tricky to stop yourself from walking in it, although this would not be too problematic. The water from the stream and in the pool is cool, clear, drinkable and I drink it. The pool itself has red traces of iron oxides on the moss and stone around it. The whole thing is natural, but has probably been kept visible by the animals and people who have thankfully drunk from it over the years.
It's a kuksa, a Finnish wooden drinking vessel. It's made from a parasitical plant which grows from trees, a light wood which absorbs the taste of the drink which is put into it. This kuksa has been used for drinking red wine, as the inside is reddened a rich, browny red. The kuksa is uncarved, smooth but there are the marks from constant use on the rim, on one side (the user was left-handed. I am left-handed, by the way). I am fond of kuksas, so I take it with me.
It is a plain key, Victorian or earlier. Three loops mark the handle. The metal is silver but tarnished from its long stay on the forest floor. The grey key was almost unnoticeable, but I stepped on it. Looking around I see that there is a nail embedded in a tree near the path, and I assume that the key was originally there. I debate hanging this unadorned key on the nail, but being quite acquisitive I take it with me, less from motives of opening a door with it than from the fact that I'm also rather fond of keys. I have no concept of what this key could unlock. It could be anything from a door to a chest or a cupboard. I would tend towards something big and heavy, of old oak.