The Ospreys Cry, “Glory!”
I hear them more often than I see them. And no wonder. The intersection of 97th Avenue and Mill Plain is a constant rush and roar of motor vehicles hurrying from A to B, oblivious of anything higher than the traffic signal. Add in power lines, giant signs and a handful of storefronts and it is easy to see how one might miss the pair of ospreys nesting in the top of the cell tower across the street. Yet there they are, doing their osprey thing as the world rushes by.
Birds of prey have always fascinated me. When posed with the whimsical question of what animal I would be if given the chance, I always say eagle or some such bird because I think it would be marvelous to glide over the landscape and just take it all in. As Perhaps that’s what inspired me and my college buddies to skydive after graduation. The chance to fly like an eagle (“to the sea”). Our first skydiving jump didn’t exactly go as planned and I noticed this morning that the life of an osprey is not a piece of cake either. Some, like these two, have to live on top of a metal cell tower two miles from the nearest body of water instead of some lofty snag along the Columbia River. Even if these ospreys have figured out how to catch rodents instead of fish I still think this has to be the low rent district for birds of prey.
Then there are the crows. I don’t know what crows have against ospreys but they often harass them in flight. Twice this morning I watched the smaller crow dive bombing the ospreys as they tried to take a morning tour. I think they finally decided to stay in their nest for a while and wait for the obnoxious crow to get a life.
They were chirping away, probably commiserating about crows, as I headed inside to begin my day’s work. I can hear their repetitive cry even here at my desk and I mimic it quietly as I type. They cry and they fly and they live and they die to the glory of the One who gave them wings and breath. Their praise renews my own.