There’s something about being on a rooftop. Padding around on the tin or the tiles, you are on your own patch but united with an expanded landscape.
Elevation provides, at worst, a sense of dominion, at best, awe and gratitude; an understanding of yourself as a contributor to the whole; an awareness that your actions matter but that many of the concerns of your life will pass. At ground level, structures hem you in and press your cares close. Given a little elevation, perspective (and possibly, release), kicks in.
Up on the evening rooftops of Zurich, the BB and I chance upon a gathering, a window, a wine, a vine and a string of jewel-lights.
The clock on the tower is superfluous up here. It marks a time which plays out before us on the walls and roofs as shadows stalking rising gold. We’re floating in a diminishing pool of sunlight.
And on this rooftop, invoking ancient times, we find ourselves eyeball to stomata with a hanging garden.
Life from a roof is at once condensed and enlarged; immediate yet timeless.
Find a roof. Get on it. See what happens.
You may be changed.
At least you will be unfettered for a while.