Mysteries of the Civil Twilight

A low, grey day, the kind of day where daydreaming seems endemic. Like the chime of a deep bell, drifting across fields, days like these belong to the distance, to the obscured horizon.
I sat on a bench in St Nicholas Churchyard at lunchtime, drawing trees and gravestones. Before I began sketching an old man sat next to me for a while. His movements were abrupt and jagged and he kept looking at me as if he expected me to say something to him at any moment. I turned my back on him and looked down the sloping and uneven path that below the trees and old fashioned street lamps back into the town centre.
After he had left, a young woman sat on one of the tombstones near the entrance, got out what looked like a map or a guidebook. As nervy as the man, her furtive glances at nothing in particular were disquieting.
I did not see her leave.

There are different kinds of twilight, according to the internet. Astronomical twilight, nautical twilight and civil twilight. The ides of civil twilight fascinated me, the knowledge that twilight also precedes sunrise as well as follows sunset.
Civil twilight.
The words sound like something blue. Rain water siding down streets under fading skies, abandoned parades of shops, long streets rising through hills between tall and narrow houses.

The new town out of the window at work had a different character today. The hill in the distance became obscured by fog. Imagined spires and towers vanishing into the haze.
By the time I left work it had began raining.

More notes on the Death-House; the curtains in the windows of all four storeys are ragged and torn. In the ground floor window there is a narrow strip of dull light that can be seen emanating from the back of the house. A room the length of the house or an open door? The front step of the house is full of litter and leaves.
A long abandonment gathering in pools.

Ascending the two flights of stairs to my room in, the air seemed altered and deeper. My footsteps in the timer-switch landscape.

I imagine I hear the sea, but know I cannot.
Mysteries of the civil twilight perhaps.