Somewhere between here and there

Queen Anne's lace. Fluttering. Delicate fronds, open like a tablecloth over every doubt you ever had. What can we eat from such a spread of frothy? Peppermint jam, peachcombs and slatherberry tartes. It's like the emerging day, inmerging night, and all those stars, scattered, scattering even as you watch them, racing towards that dawn while the wind brings nodding tables, beneath the stars, and you and I may dine on delicious.