It had rained all morning, a steady gray curtain that blurred the outlines of the world and turned every sound into a muted whisper. The streets shone with shallow streams, gutters ran full, and the trees bent under the weight of the water that soaked their leaves. Then, almost without warning, the clouds tore apart at noon, revealing a sky so clean and polished it seemed improbable after such heaviness.

The air, freshly washed, carried a strange brilliance, like dark crystal, sharp and sober, cutting the edges of things into precise forms. Each rooftop stood etched against the sky, each branch outlined with an austere clarity, as though the world had been drawn anew with ink and glass. Shadows lay deeper, colors darker, yet everything gleamed with a hidden intensity. The light was not joyous but solemn, a quiet revelation after hours of rain.

In that sudden stillness, it felt as though the earth itself had paused, cleansed and rearranged, offering the eye not merely a scene but a truth: that beauty could be severe, and clarity could carry with it a touch of melancholy.

~Corina