fbpx

book a free discovery call 👉

christie
chisholm
creative

copywriting &
consulting

Water in air

0Shares

It is quiet now at night, even in the city, roads and voices muted by the mad hush of rain. Rain against pavement is also a sound, but it slips through ears like it does through gutters, spilling over and out and rushing to sea in the way all moments and memories eventually do. But I imagine that tonight even without the rain the world would seem silent, no matter the city or bustle or subway line. Tonight is made for our quiet.

Rain in New Mexico is like destiny; every drop a karmic reward, a promise that tomorrow will come as tomorrow always has. But sometimes it doesn’t, does it? Sometimes it is just one last night of rain or dust, and who are we to know when that night will arrive?

We were younger then, and life had not yet torn us to ribbons. The rains plumped the sagebrush and lavender, and we were plumped, too, buoyed with that which had not yet washed out to sea.

Out east by the sea, where the rain runs away, it is not quite so revered. The rain comes and people stretch for umbrellas and rubber, they shake their heads after having their fill. But in the desert when the moon was full and the rain slapped against us, we ran into the yard without our shoes and spun, arms and heads to the heavens. We were younger then, and life had not yet torn us to ribbons. The rains plumped the sagebrush and lavender, and we were plumped, too, buoyed with that which had not yet washed out to sea.

The moments blur together, one raindrop against the next, prisms scattered against the pavement, the porch, our skin. How many times can a heart be broken by memories?

Her hands were not always made of paper. I would sit on the edge of the claw-foot tub and watch those hands unweave silver braids; count brushstrokes as I daydreamed about whether my hair would one day match. White or silver. Her hands were always soft, but soft changes with time; rains pull back, reach for the sea, plums turn to paper.

Tonight is not made for words; it is made for the drowning quiet, the non-sound of water in air.

—c

what you should charge

free guide!

Ever wish you knew the secret to copy that sells?

Then you’re going to love my 7 Secrets to Killer Copy, which helps you write copy that not only sounds like you, but makes your customers say: “gimme.”

Comments

0 Comments

Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You might also like …

Thoughts about birds on a winter afternoon

Thoughts about birds on a winter afternoon

I caught it by chance, happened by the window at the right moment. The colors almost surprised me. It’s like I’d forgotten that once every 24 hours the world has a chance at that kind of drama, all fuchsia and violet and tangerine.

read more
Holidays in the time of COVID

Holidays in the time of COVID

The holidays tend to divide us every year. You love them or you hate them. They’re easy for you or hard for you. A time of comfort or stress. One thing is almost guaranteed, though: Whatever your usual sentiments are about the holidays, they’re probably magnified in 2020.

read more
Notes from a pandemic

Notes from a pandemic

I remember one summer in New Mexico when so many forest fires ignited across the Southwest it was impossible to escape the scent, and the detritus, of burning land. I’d take my dog on our evening walk around the block, watch the sun blaze red as it sank to the earth against an ashy sky, and then return inside to wipe soot from my face.

read more
Thoughts about birds on a winter afternoon

Thoughts about birds on a winter afternoon

I caught it by chance, happened by the window at the right moment. The colors almost surprised me. It’s like I’d forgotten that once every 24 hours the world has a chance at that kind of drama, all fuchsia and violet and tangerine.

read more
Holidays in the time of COVID

Holidays in the time of COVID

The holidays tend to divide us every year. You love them or you hate them. They’re easy for you or hard for you. A time of comfort or stress. One thing is almost guaranteed, though: Whatever your usual sentiments are about the holidays, they’re probably magnified in 2020.

read more
Notes from a pandemic

Notes from a pandemic

I remember one summer in New Mexico when so many forest fires ignited across the Southwest it was impossible to escape the scent, and the detritus, of burning land. I’d take my dog on our evening walk around the block, watch the sun blaze red as it sank to the earth against an ashy sky, and then return inside to wipe soot from my face.

read more
Like fireflies

Like fireflies

I don’t think I’ve ever told you about the fireflies. Now, here in the middle of a pandemic, seems like absolutely the right time. Before I tell you the story, I want to take a moment to repeat a truth that, while being said a lot these days, can never be said too much:

read more
Christie Chisholm Creative
Share via
Copy link
Powered by Social Snap