The room is cool, flooded with light from the early morning sunlight through large windows that dominate three windows overlook the sea. A few pieces of simple furniture make the large room seem even larger. The walls are white, hung with three abstract paintings in soft pastels. Only the barely perceptible sound of cool air from a vent from a vent can be heard in the total quiet.
The trees are tall, huge trunks reaching for blue sky. The branches reach for each other and barely touch. Gnarled roots struggle to break the cone covered ground.
The path is wide, barely visible under the fallen leaves. It is easily navigated, undisturbed, soft to the step, not a human foot has touched it in a long time.
The clear glittering water is rushing over time smoothed rocks.
The cup is a soft grey tin dented with age.
The key is old and rusted, long and heavy as if for the thick planked door of an isolated forest cabin.