After the Rain, Colour Turns Up
A film of water changes nothing about the scene except how it hands back light.
What rain does to colour is mostly physics. A dry surface scatters light in every direction and returns it pale; a wet one carries a thin film that behaves like glass, so leaves drop from mint to bottle green and asphalt goes almost black. Nothing has been repainted. Only the top millimetre is different.
The second change happens far away. Rain pulls the dust out of the air, and ridgelines that were a flat blue smudge all afternoon grow their edges back. Puddles arrive as temporary mirrors, so the sky is on the ground as well, upside down, cut into pieces about the size of a footprint.
The window is short, roughly twenty minutes before the film dries and the ordinary matte world returns. As wallpaper that turns out to be the useful part: these frames need no saturation slider, the depth in them is real, and the colour still holds behind a row of icons that would flatten a paler picture.
