The speaker goes walking in the woods and lists what she sees: birds, deer, coyotes, a fox met suddenly at a corner, moose tracks. These are real, ordinary wonders, and the short, plain lines make them feel like a quiet inventory of things noticed on many walks.
Then the poem turns with a question: "What am I looking for?" The answer gets playful and impossible. Monkeys in a pine, seals on a beaver dam, flamingos among cattails. None of these belong in a northern woodland, which is the joke, and also the longing. The last lines move into the world of the title, with a little door low in a tree and a golden key already in the speaker's pocket.
The mood is gentle, curious and a little wistful. The speaker seems to love the real woods but still wants something more, a touch of childhood enchantment. The key in her pocket suggests she is ready for it, if only the door would appear.