The room is slightly cool with sunlight streaming in the windows. It is a room in an old Victorian house, and it has lots of light wood antiques in it. I am in a huge brass bed piled high with old quilts and a cat sleeping at my feet. The walls have a soft floral print wallpaper on them. The room feels like home.
Lots of tall trees, slightly dark with dappled sunlight coming through the branches. The leaves has just begun to change and the color in the forest is gold and red. The air smells of pungent moss and earth.
The path weaves in and out of the trees and it is an old path. It is barely defined as if no one has been here for awhile. It is wide enough to accommodate 2 people. Scattered leaves cover parts of the path. The earth under my feet is hard packed.
It is a small stream that I come upon. It is not very wide but it is moving along at a good clip. The water is very cold and clear. There are many smooth stones in the stream bed. I can see everything in the bottom of the stream because the water is so clear, so pristine.
It is a cup. The cup is an old fashioned tin cup covered with enamel. It is green. The outside is slightly dented and scratched, as if it was well used and loved.
I think the key unlocks the door to a house in the woods that no longer exists. The house was old and fell down long ago. The key is one of the old brass ones, like a skeleton key, and a tiny bit of gray string is hanging on the end still.