Mean Hurricane Irene

This last week has been less colorful without Roman in the branches. Last night while we were out for a perch, Black Jack flew in with some shaky news: a hurricane was making its way towards us. "What's it's name?" asked Sophia. "Irene," buzzed Black Jack, "And she's lean enough and mean enough that we need to evacuate."

And just like that, the wind started howling and the rain started pounding. To keep things light, we all took names of hurricanes for 2011: Black Jack = Bret; Algernon = Harvey; Stilts = Philippe; Silas = Sean; Yvette = Rena; Magnus = Vince; Sophia = Katia; Pascal = Lee; The Twins = Ophelia and José; Penny = Gert; Edward = Don; me = Nate.

We took a break on a lamp post while the adventurers of the troop (Bret, Gert, Sean and Lee) did a little reconnaissance.

Did you know the names of hurricanes alternate from girl names to boy names, every other time? Did you know they go in alphabetical order? Did you know another name for a hurricane is a tropical cyclone? Did you know weathervanes are 3500 years old?

We were able to reach Roman and find out he was okay. When times are stormy, it's important to make sure your flock is safe.

Thankfully, we found a dry place where we could wait out the storm. Sophia began, almost immediately, to relay stories of Poseidon and why he does what he does. As we sat and listened and got lost in the sound of the wind and rain and Sophia's tales, I realized that sometimes it takes a hurricane to remind me of who and what is important.

Broken On The Brooklyn Bridge

Sometimes, even when the sun comes up in the morning and the sky is full of summer-blue, sad news comes floating on the wind. A couple mornings ago, Roman told me he was thinking of leaving The Troop and asked if he could talk to me about it. I said yes and told him I'd meet him on the steps leading up to the Brooklyn Bridge.

We flew to the top of the arches and sat for awhile. I could tell he was a little nervous to talk, so I waited. I thought about the hard work it would be to build an incredible bridge and then I thought about the hard time Roman must be having. There's no two-ways about it: bridge building is difficult but deconstructing a bridge may be more difficult.

We flew to a bench and Roman asked, "Did you know the first creator of this bridge died as a result of working on this bridge? Did you know the creator's son was paralyzed from working on it?" I shook my head no and stayed quiet a little longer. Roman was having a hard time with his life-bridge.

Bridges are structures that get you from one place to another; bridges help people stay above water; bridges are constantly being used by folks going in opposite directions.

Even though bridges makes it easy to cross from one side to the other side, you occasionally run into sharp-pointed obstacles.

Suspension cables need to be anchored to either side of a bridge to create tension. The tension helps to keep it up. The suspension cables are made up of hundreds of smaller cables. But what if your suspension cables are losing their anchor? What if it feels like your bridge is broken or breaking?

Roman told me that even though he knew there was plenty of blue-sky above, he was feeling trapped on his life's-bridge. I cried. Have you ever felt that way before? I have.

We sat above the

East River

and took some time to look at the 8 bridges that spanned it—8 different bridges made to cross the same body of water.

When some time passed, I asked Roman a question, "What can we do to help you?" "I'm not sure," he said, "But I think I need to leave for awhile. I need some time and space to figure out how to rebuild my bridge."

What do you do when you don't know what to do? What do you do when your friend is weary, feeling small, when tears are in his eyes?

You tell him: If you need friends, we're sailing right behind like a bridge over troubled waters. And maybe one day, the wind will bring him back.