From Above

From Above

They were standard houses and standard buildings, both with very standard roofs; supporting the standard houses and standard buildings were walls, also all very much like one another. These inert, architecturally insignificant buildings that span across the small town of Petaluma maintain the same routine that lasts for decades: the routine of nothing. All day, the motionless buildings continuously watch the drastically changing environment around them, as if they were attempting to change in tangent with it. The inconsistent and varying features of the outdoors-- sunlight and shade, warmth and cold, people and animals-- coexist in the areas encompassing the unchanging buildings. The peace and solitude upon a roof is soothing to say the least. The ability to see everything that surrounds that roof-- the ability to absorb the very irregular and captivating aspects of the environment-- is jaw dropping. Empowerment, eccentric , and enlightenment-- these are all acquired from the simple act of laying or sitting on a roof. The observing senses within the mind are enhanced here, on the standard roof, one that is of the standard brown shade and that has standard tiles which protrude in a downwards fashion with a slight curvature. From the roofs of these standard houses and buildings, all of these very irregular things can be seen. From this very uncomfortable seating arrangement, the observation and absorption of the world surrounding a monotonously decaying building, can finally begin.

I watched. I heard. I laughed. From the sanctity of my roof, I witnessed everything from dog-walkers to cat-walkers, and everything in between. The horrid invention of leashes for children is despotic, yet always seems to fill me with laughter. As the adolescent child constantly attempted to debilitate the leash that confided his movements, he pulled and jerked his mother forward three feet at a time. The amount of my veneration for the mother decreased drastically as the duo walked down the eroded and crack-filled sidewalk. They advanced forward, step by step, and along the way, managed to create crackling sounds from the plethora of dead leaves and branches from the overhanging oak tree which could be heard fifty feet away. The struggling child, suited up in a “Yu-Gi-Oh” backpack with its leash, left a imprint in my memory.

As the cold nightly winds penetrated my black fleece jacket upon the roof of Sonoma Mountain Elementary, the sun set slowly over the mountain ranges in the background. The blue skylight slowly darkened into a pockets of a dark orange that appeared in the gaps between a bunny shaped cloud, which certainly had much flubber, and another, which took the shape of a tortoise. The orange pockets soon disappeared into the blackness of night, which slowly made its way over the horizon, and continued to settle into the gloomy area over my head. With the darkness came the absence of life, or of what would have been the absence of life if the screams of joy from the Friday night had let it; but as matters stood, the absence of life filled the darkened sky.

It was fast and quick and hasty and dashing and rapid and dangerous and I nearly missed it: the excitement of a prepubescent child riding his bike down a hill. As I watched the daylight slowly disappear behind the mountains, the temperature began to drop slowly. I heard screaming: a young boy on a bicycles was racing down the street with his shrieking voice being warped as he rode past my location. The simple joy of adrenaline rushes is constantly motivating young children as they speed through their childhood. The simple joy of being young and easily entertained is at the heart of my envy. The simple joy of appreciating the simple things is at the basis of my philosophies. Moments later, I heard the sound of brakes being slammed and the sound of rubber being worn away on the already exhausted pavement.

From the rooftops of buildings, one has an unlimited amount of vision, but from the sidewalks of the streets below, lines of sight are often obscured by other buildings; the rooftops are free while the streets are confined; the rooftops place its inhabitants on top of the world while the street places them in the gutters where they converse about their repugnance towards the vast amount of potholes and eroded cement. The rooftops are more than a shelter, they create an area of all-seeing in which insignificant occurrences can be absorbed in a more creative manner. They have become a retreat; a retreat in which the difficulties of yesterday and today are quelled, and where the solutions of tomorrow are presented today.

-Dean