The room is warm and purple, with a fruity scent, like incense. There is a thick, maroon carpet on the floor. The bed has curtains, but they are pulled back to let the light in. There is a dresser across from the bed, under the window. There are also some bookcases and shelves of colorful trinkets.
The trees are pale green, fading into a darker shade as the new leaves of the deciduous trees blend into the resilient pine needles. There is a bright sun in the sky, perhaps a little too bright on the harsh lines of the partially bare branches.
The path is dirt, packed down hard by many travelers in the past, though it is rarely used now. An old wooden sign marks the path's beginning, but the letters are too weather-worn and dusty to read. The path is narrow and winding, disappearing into the forest just around the bend.
It is a large, rippling lake, the water pushed into currents and eddies by the strength of the creek that feeds into it. The water appears a solid blue, reflecting the sky, and the sun glares on it. One can see only a few feet down through the water - then, the beams of light are lost in the thick weeds covering the rocky bottom.
It is glass, covered in dirt on the outside where it was partly submerged in the dried, caked mud of the bank. It looks more like a vase than a cup, being fairly wide at the top, but with a quickly narrowing neck and a thick, curving lower chamber. On closer inspection, the inside seems fairly clean and unmarred.
It is partly rusted, partly shiny - the sort of golden color that a child would describe as gold, while a wiser adult would smile and say it is of brass. But it is gold. In better days it might have unlocked a rich lady's jewelbox or a secret cabinet of documents. But I think it has been long lost. I almost feel as if the path had opened to reveal it to me.