I believe if I were a small enough insect to fly between the snowflakes of a snowstorm, weaving in and out, darting all about with out getting touched by one, this is what the snowflakes would look like to me. Just for effect I placed one of these, my most gossamer doilies, outside against a setting of freshly fallen snow. It's hard to see that way. There are three of these little lovelies in the chest of textile treasure I inherited and they are made out of what feels like sewing thread. Could they be bobbin lace? They measure five and a half inches across and I don't know how to measure stitch per inch in something like this, but I have included a penny to help you appreciate the scale. These are destined to be framed. Until then I keep them rolled up in a towel. If you have any thoughts or suggestions about these, please leave a comment. I may take them to a local lace guild and see what they can tell me. Imagine making something like this out of so fine a thread! I know they were made by a grandmother of mine, but which one? So light, so delicate I start to imagine a drop of the fairy-folk blood in my family tree. Perhaps the merest atom of a being fashioned these delicate little things as she sat at a toadstool deep in a forest of flowers. Indeed, these have about the same weight on my hand as spiderweb and I avoid handling them very much because I am afraid to find they are about a strong a a spider's web, easily torn. However, in the bit of handling I do give them they surprise me. They are tougher than they look. A lot like my grandmothers were no doubt, and women everywhere. Even elven ones.