Every morning I oversleep. Every morning I awake to the crescendo chatter of crows in the banyan tree outside. And I wonder about a cat being tormented, or a strange bird being driven away. And choice. And happenstance and nature. And I return like a faithful homing bird to thoughts that have upset me for a while, and I try to unravel reasons for errant behavior and seek instances in the past that might fit in, like a puzzle, only you’re grasping at a straw in the wind.So where do you go and what do you do, when decisions are taken for you, decisions that you only chance upon, stumble upon, so manipulative. Like someone said, leave it to the fates, to the rhythm of the earth and the wind? Or clairvoyant-like, try to foresee? I think of these questions at odd hours, and then late into the night I sit at the window and watch pinpoints of distant light fade away under a canopy of stars. What does it matter, just crow chatter and fading whispers to the one in the skies.