Roof garden roses

Getting up to the roof involves climbing up a metal ladder, popping a hatch, and hauling myself up out of it. I go barefoot as this leads me to believe that I'll be more sure footed. When I return I am black-footed, after walking on the neighbour's roof. More about that in another post. The Mystery of the House Next Door (it's where the raccoon lives. But people live there too. In the same house).

I wanted to see what the roses look like from the top. Also, I like rooves. Roofs. Whatever.

There is something very movie-like about New York rooves. Roofs. They are over-certified - see the Walker Percy quote in the side bar, scroll down...They are full of satellite dishes and chimneys, and from this roof you can see New York Harbour, and the orange ferries, the tugboats and their charges, Governor's Island and the big white building on it that sucks exhaust fumes from the tunnel beneath, which connects the southern tip of Manhattan to Red Hook, for cars. You can see the back gardens of the houses behind us, and the trash pile behind the Long Island College Hospital's dormitory for doctors. Far away, across the water, you can see New Jersey, and planes landing at Newark, in the west. To the east, there are church steeples, and tree tops.

And on this roof there are roses.

Iceberg, below.

And New Dawn.