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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The road to my hometown was a long, and arduous one. I loved the walk ,and the privacy it gave me. My mind was awash with thoughts of confusion on foot of my favourite author’s premature demise. Verna Usherette was her name. The leisurely stroll weighed heavily on me as I struggled to come to terms with her departure. Verna, in the general scheme of things, was never a very popular author but I felt she spoke to me even in death. Usherette’s life, like her death, was shrouded in mystery. Quite often I wrote enchanting fan letters to this author and in return there was an ethereal handwritten reply. Her preoccupation with things beyond this world had a ghostly form. Eerie in an intriguing manner even in Verna’s responses which often felt like floating journeys between one planet and another. The aging process, losing one's way, searching for new escapes, and otherworldly outlets were among her many themes. The manner in which people changed shape and form with time, allied to plots beyond Mother Earth were also part of her repertoire. There seemed to be an ardent desire on her part to defy Birth and Death in the process of her search for this elusive nirvana, an end point where life’s meaning would unfold. Miss Usherette could link and loop angular profiles, broad brushstroke upon broad brushstroke whilst simultaneously sidetracking every observant reader. In summation this had a particular resonance as I continued the trek towards my very picturesque hometown with its multitude of signposts, byways and uncanny detours. They had an esoteric symbolic depth when out and about while absorbing very visual environments. People were always asking me for directions - asking the way as if I had an aura of expertise. Verna was uppermost every time I directed total strangers. You could feel Verna Usherette’s presence as the most unusual, and, sometimes bizarre characters enquired about local interest spots. Some of these people would have been admirably suited to many of Miss Usherette's novels. Did Verna send them I wonder? The most directionless elements in society would stop me. They were always searching for something, and it wasn't necessarily always for nightlife or entertainment. Verna’s passing was rather sudden at forty-nine years of age. It was SpringTime which gave her death a special poignancy. Her books had this magnetic effect on everyone who bought them. Many’s the time I was lost in one of her intricately woven narratives when someone had to remind me that I was on planet earth. Suddenly I heard the screeching of car wheels as a Toyota car pulled up beside me. A car window was lowered to reveal an artistic greying middle-aged lady. “Excuse me sir.” “May I ask you a question?“ Of course I said with querolous surprise in my voice. “I saw you earlier today. You seemed angst ridden, possessed by gloom. There was sadness about you as if you had lost someone or something.“ An insight laden vocal cascade, a waterfall wonderment, clinically accurate, captivating in other words Posted : June 2nd 2022
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