What remains once the rain has fallen silent. Not the storm and its violence, but the calm that follows, the moment after, when everything seems held in a slow, suspended breath. It is a time of transition, when light returns shyly, and the ground still carries the memory of water. Nothing is completely dry, nothing fully restored. The landscape shifts, subtly. It is an invitation to observe the fragile and the transient. For it is within these silences that the greatest of movements is born, the one of beginning again.