On Heart and Heart Matters.

There have been no posts from me since Tuesday night because I’ve been feeling a little distant and depressed. It was due in part to the fact that all my immediate prospects are unwelcome ones, and partly because I’ve been feeling physically unwell. But I don’t want to go into detail because I’ve whinged enough over the past couple of years and I’m tired of it.

I will mention one thing though. The physical symptoms hit a new and sudden high today shortly after I’d completed one of the garden’s more physically demanding operations. They were extremely unpleasant and suggested the possibility that I had a minor heart attack of some sort. Some of the symptoms are still with me nine hours later, but no matter. Their progress will determine whether or not I will pursue the issue with the health professionals. The reason I mention the occurrence is this:

You might remember that I said in a post once that there was somebody I wanted to talk to an hour before I die. It may have come across as a joke, but I meant it. I wanted to tell her a story, you see, but I didn’t want to cause her any embarrassment or other form of consternation until it was too late to require any unwarranted response from her. The problem with such an intention is that I might not get sufficiently accurate forewarning of my demise, and so after today’s alarming episode I decided to start writing it down so that it can be given to her after I’ve gone.

This is how far I got earlier. I’m posting it simply because I needed to put something on the blog after five days of silence and it’s going reasonably well so far. I fear it might not be finished tonight, so I’m hoping that today’s imp of a heart problem (if such it be) doesn’t send his big brother along too soon.

*  *  *

I think the narrative on which I am about to embark began during the late winter of 2007. I was walking along Mill Lane when I spotted a young woman and a Cocker Spaniel puppy walking towards me. Given my love of dogs, it’s hardly surprising that I should stop and ask ‘may I make friends with your dog?’ Assent having been given, make friends with the dog was what I did. But matters didn’t end there.

I judged the young woman to be around late teens or maybe twenty, probably not older. She was slim, elegant, pale of complexion, roughly dressed though not unpleasingly so, and appeared to have a quiet disposition which I attributed to a natural reticence when meeting strange men on quiet country lanes. Her hair was dark and roughly gathered up in no particular style. What I found intriguing was that I couldn’t see her face clearly.

There was no obvious barrier preventing a clear view. Her face was in plain sight a mere three feet away, and yet I looked hard and failed to categorise it as pretty or plain, welcoming or reluctant. It was as though a mist hung between us, even though the day was dry and clear. It took me a very long time to realise that maybe she didn’t want me to see her face, and maybe such intentions can manifest themselves literally if the mind is strong enough. What I don’t remember is whether I asked her name on that first encounter. I certainly did eventually, but it was probably some way further down the line. It would be most unlikely for me to be so presumptuous on a first meeting.

And that first meeting was short, as all our subsequent meetings proved to be. I think the longest we ever spent in one another’s company was probably around half an hour, and that was a rare exception which I’ll mention later in the narrative. Most of our meetings were substantially shorter than that. And they all occurred by accident, mostly when walking somewhere on the lanes of the Shire in opposite directions. During such meetings I grew exceedingly fond of the little dog, but my response to the young woman defies such a simple description.

Whenever I saw her the sun came out. Not literally, of course, but somewhere inside me. And I began to notice a lot about her. I noticed her quiet yet confident demeanour. I noticed the upright elegance of her walk. I noticed her voice which was perfect in pitch and modulation. I noticed her gentle eyes and watched them for every little sign of meaning, even though it might seem odd that I never noticed what colour they were. (It was to be some years before I discovered they were hazel.) But above all those qualities, what I most noticed was her presence. I won’t risk an inadequate appraisal of such a term; suffice it to say that it was almost palpable and I felt warm and comfortable in its aura.

*  *  *

Sorry to frustrate, but I doubt I’ll post more. Maybe you can guess the rest. Think Irene Adler.