42nd October Morning

Time tripping half past midnight, into the outer regions of the small hours. Feels so late here. I pretend I can hear the lane - the songs of the dead lamp- that circle the Mews. Outside of the window, down below and to my left the night=geography of the lane remains -and will continue to remain- unmapped.
Laptop hums. Such silence here. My fingers on the keys sound like dancing footsteps. Below me is a workshop, the interior of which I have never seen, a space haunted by the ghosts, perhaps, of dressing tables and sideboards, wardrobes and cupboards, bookcases and garden benches.
A pile of clothes beyond the bed resembles some badly constructed animal; hastily discarded pelts hiding the metal of the railing. I can see Metallica's 'Kill 'em All' on vinyl, underneath a fragment of an And Also The Trees t-shirt. A disturbance out in the hallway. Andy leaves his room for the bathroom. I think of the narrow stairs, the silent mews, the road beyond that and all the autumnal spectralcy outside.
Inside.
There is a peace walking in the first darkbess just past twilight.. Dusk, like autumn, never lasts long enough. Alleyways I never notice before open up, and St Anns Well Park, as I pass by, seems a haven of shadows far deeper than I would have thought.
I'll walk into sleep instead, slip down into dreams.
Wake in the inevitable restlessness of the 42nd October morning of this decade.