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.

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