The weather vane sat on the roof and told you which way the wind was blowing. A rooster. An arrow. A ship. The weather vane was the first weather report and it was always right because the weather vane did not predict. The weather vane reported. The weather app predicts. The weather vane knew the difference.

Every weather vane was different. The church on Sixth Avenue had a rooster. The firehouse on Great Jones Street had an eagle. The bank on Broadway had an arrow because the bank did not have time for decoration. The weather vane told you about the building. A rooster meant faith. An eagle meant service. An arrow meant business. The weather vane was the building's horoscope.

The farmer read the weather vane and knew when to plant. The sailor read the weather vane and knew when to sail. The city kid read the weather vane and knew which way the smell was coming from. I watched the weather vane on the church across from Tompkins Square Park and I knew when the wind shifted because the rooster turned and the Meatpacking District moved uptown.

The weather vane is the oldest instrument on the roof. Older than the antenna. Older than the satellite dish. Older than the air conditioner. The weather vane was up there before electricity and the weather vane will be up there after the power goes out. Iron does not need a signal. Iron needs wind.

There is a weather vane on a building on Waverly Place that has not moved in twenty years. The bearings rusted. The rooster points north. It has been pointing north since the nineties. The wind blows and the rooster ignores it. A broken weather vane is a clock that stopped. It is right once a day when the wind comes from the north.

See also: Chimney Pot, Water Tower