One Brown Mouse

 

Photo: a miniature fairy house sits near a field of perennial succulents and a small grey heart-shaped stone nestles in a bare patch. Looking like a tall tree, a pale blue grape hyacinth juts above the foliage.

    I have encountered many things on my walk to work through the business end of a small town - friends and frenemies, emergency vehicles and urgent purchases, half-eaten pizzas and half-baked ideas. The other morning, I encountered a small, furry, scurrying brown mouse.

    I first met her at the corner where the grey granite bank building sits. Initially, I thought she was a bit of dried brown leaf that the wind was toying with, but when the path of movement continued along the blank wall of the building, I noticed that she seemed to be seeking some shelter, not knowing if I were friend or foe.  I say 'she', because she seemed diminutive yet determined, but gender did not matter.

    As my feet advanced along the sidewalk, the little mouse stopped to see if I were still in pursuit, and then ran a little further along the space where the wall met the pavement. I could see her seeking out some crack, some crevice that was large enough to disappear into, but when she didn't, she continued on a few feet more. There was not a single indentation large enough for the little body to get safely into, so she went on a bit further. When we'd both gotten to the small, brick-lined alleyway between two buildings, I saw her plainly as she skipped across the way to the opposite wall, on miniscule trotters that were more grey-pink than brown.

    There, the brick was aging and perhaps had some space for ingress, so I stood there, bags in hand, like a lollygagger waiting for the next thing to happen. She continued to run, stepping into one crack and finding it insufficient, seeking another a few feet away, and probably stopping to catch her breath within the tiny heaving chest. I went on, my work was still waiting and there were (figurative) donuts to make. But I thought about that lone mouse for a good part of the morning. Had she been getting breakfast in a nearby dumpster, or nibbling on the ever-present pizza crusts left along the sidewalk? Were the tiny cheeks full of such sustenance to take home to a brood of babies? 

    The chance and random encounter left me feeling light and as if I were in cahoots with nature to witness the early-morning run of one brown mouse.

    At home, this morning, the bird feeder by my kitchen door swung on the squirrel-proof baffle from a hook. Empty. A Dark-eyed Junco alighted there for a half a minute, knowing there was nothing in it, but perhaps hoping that his presence might signal the present situation to whatever life-force that caused the seed to reappear. I sipped my tea and went to get the bird seed bucket.    

    Within seconds, an oversized Bluejay hit the feeder with heavy birdfeet and caused a small spray of nibbles to fall to the ground below where he would likely peck at them in leisure. Immediately after, Mrs Cardinal stepped onto the small perch and bent sideways to snatch some seeds. She ate until she had enough then flew down to a spot where rainwater always collected on a concave bit of garden border. She sipped the cool water and sat there a minute before flying back to the feeder for a little bit more. Mr Cardinal was not far behind, but he did not seem interested in the seed, probably seeking a heavier protein-laden meal.

    Like the rare surprise of a sunshine-yellow dandelion bursting from a crack in the asphalt, finding nature in unexpected places is always a thrill for me. That brown mouse gave me pause to know that tiny creatures inhabit a place we consider the realm of humans: concrete and pavement, stone and brick. 

    Our early spring this year has me yearning for more outdoor time, but the copious tree pollen has aggravated my allergies and the intermittent dusting of snow has killed the joy of weekend forays into my wild garden. But nature is nothing if not patient. Though that mouse seemed to my eyes to be in a hurry, she had the whole rest of her day ahead of her. I wonder what plans she had in waiting, and I wondered whether she would be there the next day at the same time. Now, rather than walk aimlessly, I will look for her in the early mornings, to see if she is scurrying along.