Queen Anne's Lace

I saw them along the road, singly, or in sparse groupings, the sight infrequent enough to form afresh the image  -each time it appeared- of a cupola, of fragile little blooms that scattered at the wisp of a breeze.

But what were they called?  In my mind, at that moment, was a lacuna that once held the verbal equivalence of this flower.  I combed through the remaining crannies, pulling out words that attempted to approximate: lilies of the valley, hydrangeas..., only to toss them aside, one by one.

When the missing words returned, restored to their proper places, what was real became more so.