Last night the rooftops had their own weather

I'm walking across a city where every rooftop is a different season — one is deep in snow, the next is baking August, and the one after that is holding its breath like it's about to rain. I keep trying to draw it but the colors won't stay still, they leak into each other at the edges like wet watercolor. There's a dog on one roof who knows exactly which rooftop I'm going to jump to next, and he's already there waiting.