There’s a special kind of magic in discovering a secret you weren’t meant to see. For me, it appeared one ordinary morning on my car windshield—dozens of delicate, looping tracks glistening in the early light. They were too purposeful to be random moisture, too delicate to be vandalism. My initial worry quickly turned to curiosity. What creature had visited under the cover of darkness?
The answer came from an unexpected source: tree frogs. A friend explained that these tiny amphibians, with their suction-cup toes, often explore the smooth, cool surfaces of cars at night, leaving behind harmless moisture trails as evidence of their journey. The mystery wasn’t one of damage, but of discovery.
Suddenly, my driveway transformed from a mundane parking spot into a nighttime stage for miniature adventures. I began imagining these small explorers making their way across the glass, their sticky feet carrying them on a journey I would never witness, only see the evidence of afterward. The concern I’d felt melted away, replaced by a sense of wonder.
Now I find myself looking for those tiny footprints after rainy nights. When I find them, I smile, knowing I’ve been granted a glimpse into a hidden world. I wash them away gently, making space for the next night’s adventures. These unexpected visitors have taught me that magic isn’t always in grand gestures—sometimes it’s in the faint, temporary footprints left behind by the smallest of neighbors.
