Most people ask why the chicken crosses the road. I want to know about the mouse.

Driving home tonight, in the dark and snow and forest, a little mouse ran across the highway. He made it safely, but I was left pondering his action the rest of the drive.

Think about that little body and tiny little feet. A whole expanse of highway. Why? What made him put his life on the line?

I imagine his mouse family sobbing at home as the intrepid explorer sets out. Rather like wondering what’s out there in the ocean, what’s at the edge of the earth, what’s on the other side of the mountain. What did he hope to discover? Did he hope to someday be able to return to his mouse family with tails (sorry, tales) of the great beyond? Will they believe him? Will they think he’s nuts? Well, they probably already do.

More than likely he simply caught the scent of a discarded sunflower seed or crumb tossed out a window. How dull.

So while this post has nothing to do with writing, it is how a writer’s brain works. One little mouse darts out and off we go into the why, and what if, and but then…

And now I wonder if he made it. Or if he got across that pavement only to be scooped up by an owl.