What changes after the first rain
After a dry spell, one night of rain changed no landmark and yet made every familiar surface easier to notice.
The first rain did not fill the creek or leave standing water on the path. It was a smaller event than that: enough to settle dust, darken stone, and make the low leaves hold their shape.
The lower path had been pale for weeks. Dry soil softened every edge until grass, gravel, and old footprints belonged to roughly the same color.
That morning the distinctions returned. The center of the path stayed light while the margins turned dark. Small stones that had disappeared into dust became separate objects again.
The grass brushed against my shoes and left a narrow wet line. Under the trees, drops continued to fall long after the weather itself had moved on.
At the first bend, the path smelled of soil rather than dust. That change was stronger than anything visible and lasted only through the shaded section.
By afternoon most of the evidence would be gone. The walk was useful because it caught the landscape between dry familiarity and its return to dry familiarity.