The table was set for innumerable guests, not yet arrived. It branched with Art Nouveau generosity into many settings. It was knit with a woodsy abundance that was dainty and dark. Its fragrance was green and full of possibilities. It rose into a sky thick with the sun's starry light.
Each place had been marked with a teacup made of petals that were pale and translucent – as gentle as the finest flowers of Dresden and Meissen. Their colors had modestly stepped from pools of watercolor: plum, amethyst, rose.
Each cup would hold a subtle recipe steeped in nectar, sugar and dew sparkling with vigor and flavor. The bright scent would flow irresistibly through the air like golden sand through a clear stream. Melting and memorable, it flew like an elusive invitation.
I wanted to hold one of the blossoms in my hand, to feel the shape of the petals' porcelain grace. But I knew how fussy Nature could be, and held back from disturbing what had taken her three seasons to prepare.