The roller on our street

An original literary non-fiction-style account of watching a road roller at work from an upstairs window.

The roller arrived with less ceremony than the small van that followed it. The van flashed orange warnings; the roller simply occupied the road. Its front drum was broad and smooth, a dark shoulder lowered towards the surface. The driver sat high above it beneath a square little roof that seemed borrowed from a garden shed.

When the machine moved, the road appeared to slide obediently underneath. It was impossible to see speed in the usual way. A crack in the old surface approached the drum, vanished and remained behind the machine as something flatter and less distinct. The change was slow enough to watch and too steady to interrupt with a single glance.

A worker in a bright jacket lifted one hand. The roller stopped. For a moment, this seemed the most remarkable thing about it: all that weight waiting for a small raised palm. The worker pointed, spoke to the driver and walked back. The drum began moving again, carrying a narrow band of daylight around its curve.

From my window, I could hear a low grumble which continued even when the machine was still. It was a sound without an obvious beginning or ending, unlike the neighbour's gate striking its post below. A woman came out carrying a shopping bag, waited beside the gate and exchanged a few words with the worker. He showed her a route along the pavement. The roller held its place. The street had become a worksite, but it had not stopped being the place where people needed to leave their houses.

How does the writer use language to present the roller's power and its relationship with the people around it?