leaf mouse

when I was young I loved thunderstorms (I still do). I would stand looking out the front window, the shadows of the raindrops on the window running down my face, watching the shivering trees and the rush of water against the curb. it happened often during these times that I would see a leaf, scuttled to and fro by the wind. . .something about the way it moved seemed so. . .rodently. I would stare at it, fixated. Maybe. . .maybe, it was. there was something about the way it moved. . .sometimes, standing there, I would be sure it must be some poor creature frantically running through the puddles. sometimes I had this strange feeling, like I knew in my heart that it was a little mouse (what a silly thing to know in your heart). I was so certain I nearly ran out in the rain just to save the drenched thing. for some brief moments I would have bet my life on it. . . and then the rain would blow it flat against the pavement. there are times in life when I am so sure of what I want, of what something is, and where it is going. and after I realize it's just a leaf I do not understand how I had been so sure, but yet I guess it doesn't matter because next time I will bet my life on it being a mouse all over again.