By the time your camera gets up there, three strangers have already chalked the roof
In a market this heavily worked, your close shot is rarely the first set of marks on the slope, and a homeowner cannot tell whose is whose.
A soft bruise in a composition shingle reads as nothing on video. What reads is a hand in the frame: a mat fracture held open in daylight, granules poured out of a palm, a fastener backed out and turned over. The camera has to be close enough that a viewer is looking at a hand rather than at a roof.
On a Frisco or Prosper street a week after a cell, that close shot will also contain somebody else's chalk. Three or four crews have already walked the same slope, each circling what they found in a different color, and the homeowner watching cannot separate your marks from theirs. Say out loud which circles are yours, and film the ones that are not without naming the company that made them.
All that traffic leaves evidence of its own. Boots scuff granules in a way that photographs like a strike and is not one, and a North Texas owner who has been through a few of these cycles will ask you about it. Show the difference on camera, a scuff sitting on the surface against a bruise that gives under a thumb, and you have answered the question every door knocker left behind.
Older parts of the metro complicate the frame further. A roof in Lakewood or Oak Cliff can carry marks and patches from two earlier storms plus somebody's partial repair, so what the camera finds is a history rather than an event. Narrate what is in front of you, say which storm you are talking about, and let a history stay a history.