Train-Rides through Twilight and the Strange Melancholy of Return

Something quite enthralling and strange about travelling by train in deep autumn; leaving in the bright sun of early afternoon, and arriving just after nightfall. That strange melancholy of returning from a weekend away, particularly when you have work tomorrow.
Watching the landscape change from the haunting countryside of the midlands, meadows and fields, lost little towns wondering what it would be like to live here. The sun sinking as the accents change, the train curving into London, and all the buildings tight with little mysteries and labyrinthine geographies.
Watching the sun set as the train heads deeper south, through Sussex, then finally back in Brighton in almost full darkness. Breathing in the too familiar air of Brighton again with all the kebab shops and post-Saturday night miasma. Walking up the hill to St Nicholas Churchyard, under the beige street lamps.
Far from Worcester now.
I miss that city.
Walking around Diglis last night with Em, twilight creeping up like autumn at the end of summer. The quiet waters of the Severn and the canal. An army of trees and tangled forgotten wastelands, and the chimes of the cathedral bell rolling out through the air.
I suppose Worcester will always be unresolved -not necessarily a bad thing- I don't even know the nature of the enigma the city presents to me, let alone be able to solve its puzzle.
On the first night there, walking with Em up London Road, back to Lark Hill Service Station where I worked from 1998 - 1999. Sat in the church grounds opposite 136 where I used to live, and the sky all red and deep with a slight sunset.
Seems so long since I lived here. No ghosts left now, but there is still a haunting. I'm not sure if it is me haunting the city or the city haunting me.
The shadows seem deep and hypnotic in that place, the rain split by bridges seemed old and full of dreams.
Walking through old songs and feeling far far from the sea, and strangely at home.
I wish I was there now.