Why Cities Need More Night Gardens

I used to think of a garden as a daytime object: bright flowers, a bench, perhaps a volunteer with a hose. Then, one warm September evening, I visited a small “night garden” behind a library. The lights were low and red, the planting deliberately untidy, and the place felt busier than any formal park. Moths moved like scraps of paper. A bat crossed the path. Two exhausted nurses sat quietly beneath a tree.

That visit made an unfashionable idea seem obvious: cities need designed darkness. Not total darkness, and certainly not unsafe darkness, but a careful reduction of the glare that wastes energy and confuses both wildlife and people.

The problem with permanent brightness

Light pollution means excessive or poorly directed artificial light. The term includes skyglow, the orange dome above a city; glare, which reduces visibility; and light trespass, when a lamp enters a home or habitat. Researchers connect disrupted darkness with insect decline, migrating birds losing their bearings, and human sleep problems. I find “pollution” a useful word because it reminds us that light has an ecological cost.

Most urban lighting was installed for legitimate reasons: safety, commerce and navigation. The mistake was treating brightness as the only measure of safety. A harsh lamp can create deep shadows beside it, while a lower, well-placed light can show the whole path. Night gardens use adaptive lighting: sensors and timers reduce intensity when nobody is present.

What a night garden actually does

These gardens combine native plants, shallow water, shelter and a controlled lighting plan. Pale, night-scented flowers support moths; logs and leaf litter give beetles somewhere to hide; a small pond supports amphibians. The aim is not to recreate wilderness, but to build a useful pause in a fragmented urban landscape.

“The best night space is not the brightest one; it is the one that lets you read the surroundings.” — Lena Ortiz, urban ecologist

A practical case

A housing cooperative in Bristol converted a sterile paved corner into a 90-square-metre garden. Residents agreed to switch off decorative lamps after 10:30 p.m., while retaining motion-sensitive path lights. After one summer, their volunteer survey recorded 31 moth species instead of 12. Nobody claimed the garden solved biodiversity loss. Still, children began checking the moth sheet, and adults reported sleeping better in flats facing the courtyard. That social result mattered as much as the insects.

How to begin without romanticising darkness

1. Map existing lamps and note glare from windows.
2. Choose local plants that flower or release scent at night.
3. Keep paths legible with low, shielded fixtures.
4. Measure visitors, species and resident comfort before making claims.

I am wary of projects that call themselves “wild” while requiring weekly replacement planting and bright promotional signs. A credible night garden accepts a little mess. It also listens to people who feel unsafe after dark. The task is a negotiated balance between access and rest, visibility and habitat, convenience and restraint.