It is an old room. Old in the sense of when it was built, and in the sense that it has remained untouched by the passage of time. There is no electricity, there is no other heat source except a fireplace. The fire is burning. This means it is warm before the fire, but of course the rest of the room is subject to drafts. There is a large bay window which is heavily draped, the drapes are a heavy burgundy brocade fabric with a deep fringe at the edge. If you move them the air fills with dust. They are gently faded but not rotten. There is a darkened portrait hanging over the mantle, two wing-backed chairs are pulled up close to the fire, also a loveseat with its back to the window. Opposite the window is a wall full of books. The centre bookcase hides a secret door. A Persian rug covers the wooden floor. The area where I stand as I view the room, in the doorway between the foyer and the room, the carpet is threadbare from heavy traffic. There is a light furring of dust on everything, including a pile of newspapers by the loveseat that go back to the early years of this century. There is a small table between the two chairs before the fire. On it is a cut glass bowl filled with old rose petals and lavender. A small cut glass vase holds a collection of pens, pencils and other pencil-shaped oddments. There is a hoop with some cross stitch in it--a Victorian style 'Welcome' sampler. There are also books piled there and beside the chair. A worn Bible, several Wodehouse novels, a thesaurus, a slang dictionary, several volumes of encyclopoedia lay beside the chair on the floor. A cat sleeps on the hearth. The fire is coal.
This is an old forest. The trees are large and mature. They are predominantly oak, some of them twisted into fantastic shapes, and occasionally into something like faces. It is mostly dark, and definitely damp and smelling of rotting leaves, but not sinister or unfriendly. There are fairly large spaces between the trees at intervals, where the forest floor can be seen. In some places there is thick velvety green moss and large cool grey rocks protruding from the ground, in other places it is rich and loamy, with small stands of may apple and anise. It is spring, still cool, the time of mushrooms. If I look carefully as I move along this path I can spot the occasional morel peeking out from under the greenery.
It is a narrow path but for the most part it moves through a fairly open area in the woods, generally following alongside a small rivulet which occasionally widens to a genuine stream. It is well travelled by deer but not people. Occasionally it crosses over the stream and the prints of deer, racoon and other forest animals can be seen in the silt and mud.
The path ends at the lowest place in the forest. Here is a deep pool of water, a natural pool, crystal clear, hemmed in by high banks decorated with fern and other damp-loving growths. There is the sound of water chuckling over stones and the air has a damp edge to it. This is a favourite drinking place with the animals who live in the forest. I try to be very quiet as I approach, because a watering place like this is always a good place to see wildlife, and I can hear a jay squawking a warning cry. It could be me he's squawking at, but then again it could also be some predator. When I arrive at the pool I briefly see a bobcat drinking before he sees me and runs off.
It is an old enameled cup, the sort called 'granite-ware' speckled blue and white. It is battered and rusting in places. It makes me wonder if there might be an old house somewhere nearby, for it looks like it is from another era.
It is an old steel-colored skeleton key of an unremarkable sort, but large and rather long. This makes me really think there must be an old house or at least a foundation nearby and makes me wish I had time to look around for it.