Delhi, Colorado was where the slow stream used to run so hard in late spring all the gold along its banks was swept downstream. It wound up in the commune where the more spiritual showgirls from Reno retired.
When the showgirls hiked down to the stream to pan for nuggets, big cloudbanks cracked open and the sky revealed an improbable shade of blue.
The showgirls knew this color well. They had admired it for years on velvet proscenium curtains and valances.
Upstream in Delhi, Colorado, old men in faded flannel shirts often wondered where the gold went.
