A 'hoppy bug' likes eggplant. Regularly
now he wakes from his winter just as the eggplant seedlings deem it warm
enough to do better than sit there. But that is the time of Second
Spring, which still seems a long way off.
The First Spring consists primarily of
excitement and activity. The rush for space by those species that
are impatient, and some might say foolish.
The 'Unknown' tomato has hatched.
'Not Cherry' may yet emerge. There is a Roma. Meanwhile, I
have seen the Zebra Swallowtail amongst the final blooms of
snowdrop. I have seen bumblebees amongst ornamental cherry and
flowering almond. And I have considered hunting down the short
trousers that make legs look so unfamiliar.
The First Spring is almost like belonging to a dream. We all just
forgive each other, grin and wave like bobble-heads.
The Second Spring is reality. And
the 'hoppy bug' knows this, which is why he waits for the foolishness of
the First Spring to be through. He does this because there is no joy
in his stout heart. And this way he can get down to the serious
business of outwitting me while I might still be dreaming.
This year I will wait for lilac to bloom before he gets his chance to cast
a crooked eye on eggplant. But he, in his cave, will most likely
undo me by sleeping late.