fieldspun thoughts: Female Cyrano

Darling, do I need to invest in an airbrushed professional portrait, instead of willynilly sending out any old snapshot of Cyrano me? I am not for the random Craigslist world, I learned. I answered a personal yesterday, first time ever in my life - I don't know what prompted me - yes I do, a whole series of events, a concatenation. A nice game of online table tennis ensued - until trading of pix time. He went first. He's very goodlooking, undeniably, plus photogenic. I can't say that he was my type -- and he didn't hesitate to let me summarily know same when I managed to scrounge a couple of recent images of me -- but one recognizes handsome looks, though I can't say that that's what motivates me, so much. That's not what had attracted me to him - it was his 'voice' online. And I explained that I am quite sure that I look better in person (when I apply myself to go out, especially) than in any photos. I think he was looking for another "model" beauty - as he is - no I was never that. Maybe I shouldn't have quipped "Slavic Venus" in reference to myself, when he said in his ad that he prefers busty, voluptuous, & curvy. Well, darling, I am all that - am I not? Though possibly I was thinking more Slavic Venus figurine. Well what do you want from a 52-year old? Who was he expecting -- Vera Farmiga? And besides -- she's thin & petite, even if she does have long legs. If "Tom" is reading this -- and if looks really are, in your heart of hearts (or whatever part) that paramount to you -- then, please, ask for a photo sooner -- before I've done so much typing, and sharing --

Ah, I'll get over it darling, of course I will, I just got a bit singed playing with matches for the first time in 25 years. (That very anniversary, this weekend.)

You know, love, sometimes I wonder about you -- the uncanny Portrait of Dorian Gray page hit - was that your commentary - sandwiched in between his looking up the blogpost in which I'd included a quick snapshot of myself -- followed by, mere minutes later, another pagehit (from you?) of Branwell, effaced behind the pillar? You know, sometimes I just can't help but string a short rebus-like narrative from coincidences such as that (these were the only hits that registered the entire day, and came within moments of each other). That somehow you were aware of his images, and of mine -- and "Dorian Gray" was your astute assessment... and the inevitable happened, verdict returned, and with a cursory note I was handed the rejection slip

it was harsh
whatever his fine looks - I fault him on lack of finesse

but then your Branwell hit came, dearest, as though, from behind a pillar, you're always there for me, looking out for me

call me an utter heathen but when I went into the church for an hour or so to work through some of the hymns, I shed a few hot tears (like fitful, fleeting dashes of rain on a torrid summer day), and while - particularly considering the setting where I was - this venerable ancient old church that sometimes seems haunted - and not necessarily by You-Know-Who (His Presence, presumably a Given) - but by strange noises - a cat miaowing, a woman's soprano voice singing as I play organ, a door slamming shut at the back of the church - when I'm there by myself

perhaps I should have offered a prayer, or thanks, or asked for help from the more obvious entity to acknowledge in that setting

instead all I could do, as I sat at on the wood bench of the organ,
all by myself in that still, strange, lovely church

was to think of you dearest
and utter your name a few times - your real one, that is
and then - out loud - at one point, simply exhale
Branwell, Branwell -- thank you

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