I abruptly stopped watching the Explore.org web cam about five weeks ago. For over a month I had tuned in twice a day to observe an osprey sitting on three eggs in a nest perched high on the coast in Bremen, Maine. The nest has an expansive view of the quiet bay below and occasional small boat traffic. The osprey performed her task with inexhaustible patience - rising only to stretch. Finally two eggs hatched and exposed feather balls - she resumed her protective sitting - the third egg never opened. The osprey chicks grew each day - flaunting tiny wings - drunkenly staggering to and fro. When still I would study the cam transmissions to determine if each chick was breathing. The osprey's mate seemed to be a dependable fellow - he would periodically land on the nest and leave a half eaten hunk of fish. Mother would then serve - a talon holding while her beak picked off a bit of fish - three or four pieces to one chick, then three or four pieces to the other. Once fed the chicks would collapse into motionless lumps. On one occasion the osprey spread her wings and lifted off. The sleeping chicks were now defenseless. I left the web site. A couple of hours later I returned and so had the osprey.
One morning in the precise middle of the nest was a perfectly round piece of birch bark - perhaps 6 inches long and three to four inches in diameter - a white tunnel. It seemed unlikely that either parent would have brought it to the nest - but maybe. Perhaps a wind gust?. A few days later one chick exploring the confines of the nest staggered over to the tunnel and plunged in. Then with effort the plump chick pushed forward into the bark and became stuck. The chick had demonstrated no capacity to move in reverse and its weight was enough to anchor the tunnel in place. By tomorrow the bird would be slightly larger and moving forward would be more problematic. Outside assistance seemed necessary but mother appeared unaware of the chick's disappearance and continued her preening. I stared at the screen and this "drama of nature" waiting for something to happen.
It then occurred to me that if I were a god I would instantly extend one divine finger - or perhaps a few quantum of energy - expending no time eternity being as it is - and push that chick's feathery tush forward and out of distress. But then I remembered a photo of a ten year old Bosnian girl lying face down in the dirt of a rutted path, her skinny legs disappearing into black barn boots. A sniper had drawn down on her and fired. No god had felt moved to prevent her murder. From Cambodia many photographs - one of a mother and young son clutching each other - terrorized as their picture was taken before being tortured and murdered. Again, no god. When a miscreant armed with an assault rifle slaughtered 20 first graders and 6 others at Sandy Hook - no god - not a single warrior angel - no legendary saint - nor a single member of the heavenly elect - exploded out of heaven outraged at the interruption of their beatific vision but determined to save those children - not one.
So things were not looking good for the chick. Unable to do anything I preferred not to watch a small life form with wings slowly die in a roll of bark. I exited the web cam thinking I might look again in six months.
Approximately one hour (and five weeks) after finishing this piece, I again clicked on the Explore.org site and the camera monitoring the nest. In it stood the mother serenely observing the bay. Next to her stood not chicks but two juvenile ospreys almost the mother's size. Both were furiously grooming their brown, white spotted feathers like narcissistic teenagers - but magnificent predators.
So something happened. Perhaps I over estimated the degree to which the chick was trapped and it was able to free itself. Maybe the osprey became aware of the chick's distress and freed it. Or perhaps there was a quantum burst of energy from heaven freeing the chick - a miracle.
The day after almost finishing this piece I was walking the dog allowing for her morning wiz. As luck would have it there appeared messengers from god in the form of two, tall, elegant young women. They walked up the driveway extolling Chloe's "cuteness". I thanked them on behalf of the dog. They were representatives of a religious organization and wished to chat with me about the Lord Jesus, God and the hereafter. I could have told them I was giving it some thought - where is their god during the slaughter of innocents? But I feared a gibberish retort about "working in mysterious ways". So I told them I had no interest in the subject and we parted amicably - "Cute dog" smiled one.
