Silverbelly Dreams
Written for Montana Woman Magazine, check them out here
Rain fell from the summer sky turning the light silver belly felt of our hats dark grey. Dancing on the valley floor between snowcapped mountains and blue ribbon streams, we didn’t pay much mind to the rain. The wet earthy smell of rain mixed with the sweet smoky aromatic flavor of the BBQ that was tended to by a couple of old ranchers.
We could only get as close as the brims of our cowboy hats allowed. Too close and the hats would graze each other, playfully threatening to off-center the other. The ground became saturated and with each step we slid through the mud causing us to carefully draw out our two-step. We held each other tighter, not wanting to lose the other to the soggy loam. We twirled and dipped between pairs of locals doing the same. A little rain would never ruin a valley cookout, especially the first one of the summer.
My mind drifted off to the beginning when we first met, when we first danced. I was never a dancer but from the moment I met you, you made me one. We danced our way through long nights and dark bars. We took breaks from dancing to tell each other stories or get hustled in pool by old ladies. We tried on cowboy hats from a hat maker in Wyoming. Standing in the back of her old work trailer we consulted each other on which felt crown was most appropriate to sit upon our heads.
I was never a good enough dancer to let my mind wander while we moved. My mind was snapped back to our dance by a clumsy misstep. My ears tuned into the song, it was nearing the end. The rain was easing up and the old ranchers stood over the racks of ribs, admiring their work.
Holding on to my hat with hand and you with the other, you dipped me back for our grand finale. When the last chord rang out, reality came rushing back in–it was all over. Just as the storm had ended and its puddles were to be dried up by the July sun, the dance ended and those moments evaporated into fragile memories. The hats would be hung up, the BBQ eaten, the band packed up, the clothes dried and you gone. All that would be left would be me, lost in my silver belly dreams.
