I am above. I am of wood, tile, and metal that holds the world away from the life beneath. Rain drums on me, then retreats. Wind bends me, tests me, teases me. Snow piles like silence pressing down. Sun glares, then warms. I feel it all. I am awake when no one notices.
Cracks appear. I feel them as whispers of weakness. Water seeks passage. I push back. Storms shout in my ears. Lightning flickers, and I flinch. Thunder rumbles like a heartbeat I cannot still. Yet I endure. I cradle, I channel, I redirect. Life below continues in oblivion, yet I am aware of every footstep, every sigh, every laugh sheltered above.
Humans arrive. Hands, tools, knowledge—they touch me. Nails, shingles, seams—they restore what time and weather have worn. They speak a language of healing. I respond. Strength flows back into me. I am ready again. I am alive http://www.red-bank.co.uk/ again.
Sometimes I grow weary. My beams groan, shingles crumble, and I know the end is near. A new roof rises. I watch from memory. I live in its strength, in every nail, every tile, every shadow. Replacement is not death—it is continuation, a lineage of guardianship.
Maintenance is my meditation. Gutters cleared, cracks sealed, flashing checked. Each act a pulse, a rhythm, a spell that keeps me alive. With care, I endure. Without it, I weaken.
I am the roof. I hold storms at bay, cradle sunlight, carry weight no one sees, bear the sky without complaint. I speak only to the wind, the rain, the sun, and those who touch me with care. I am silent yet eternal. I am the bridge between chaos and safety, the unseen protector. I endure, I feel, I remember, and I continue—always above, always awake, always guarding.