Sitting on the front steps, I am the only sign of wakefulness in the neighborhood. Insomnia strikes after midnight. It has been drizzling and suddenly the rain picks up, coming down faster and fogging the air. The recently thawed earth to my right is covered in leaf mulch, but gives way to sprouting crocuses. As I watch the rain drops hit the blades of grass, budding green leaves, and decomposing brown leaves, I notice one large brown leaf visibly moving. The street lights are not enough for me to see what moves the leaf. I imagine a roach eating it, moving it slightly with each chomp. Or a worm moving underneath, inadvertently jarring it from its resting position. Maybe an ant, dragging it away for a home construction project.
I move in closer and squint to see what I can, but night shields the moving force from sight. I think about the crocuses, wondering if their rapid growth would be visible if I watched them long enough. What miracles happen in the garden when I am not watching! I am reminded that I am not the only life awake on the block. At night, when I am normally sleeping, the garden is alive and moving. For that I am grateful.