What’s more tender than the first true leaves?
Before that, any dicot tends to resemble another, and we remember how, at first, we all have so much in common. Pairs of leaves, pairs of legs. Webs of veins. And a drive to grow.
Once the true leaves show, the plant settles into a type.
The cosmos sprouts frilly tops, and, already, I dream of the orange flowers of summer and all the swallowtails that hover over them.