After the Rain: Pavement Stories

I’m posting this a little late—these photos are from yesterday’s walk around the neighborhood. I didn’t have time earlier, but the scenes stayed with me: quiet, simple, and full of small surprises.

A light rain had just passed, leaving the ground dark and glossy. That’s always my cue to slow down. Puddles turn into makeshift mirrors, and the world doubles itself—trees stretching upside down, clouds dissolving into asphalt. I spent a few minutes framing those reflections, waiting for the ripples to calm so the silhouettes would settle. A few dry leaves floated in, like commas in a sentence, and the story wrote itself.

I’ve always enjoyed photographing ordinary surfaces after rain. The utility cover’s grid, the rough edge of concrete, the thin line of a curb—textures become more pronounced when everything is wet. Converting to black and white let me push the contrast a bit, bringing out the grit and the shine without the distraction of color. It’s the kind of quiet drama I love.

Then there’s the bike-lane icon—just paint on the floor, but it reads like a bold graphic when the pavement is dark. I like how these simple symbols become characters once you give them the frame and the light. Little things, made cinematic by weather.

It was a pleasant walk—unplanned, unhurried, and exactly what I needed. Sometimes the best subjects are the ones right under our feet, especially after the rain has done its magic. Thanks for walking with me through these small moments. I’ll take more when the next puddles appear.