November feels like Home

Just got back from a quick walk down George Street with Andy. Bought lots of old copies of the Grant Morrison penned 'Doom Patrol' comic from the Oxfam on Blatchington Road for 20p each. Very tempted to head back on Monday morning before work and pick up the copies they had of 'Animal Man', 'Shade the Changing Man' and the other early 90s Vertigo-type comics they had there.
Twilight outside. A pale-blue November twilight. No bite to the chill in the air yet, though the light has that troubled, dreamy quality about it. One thing that I have noticed over the past few years is that my fascination and resonance with autumn has shifted from September / October to November, which was previously my least favourite month of autumn. There is something deep and ancient about November, a dreary significance, and feels somehow far more autumnal than the preceding two months do. November feels more and more like home as I move through my very late thirties.
It is an understated and hypnotic twilight tonight. The sky, behind the silhouetted buildings, was a muted gold, a gold that was not reminiscent of the sun, but more of the light that might be found in attics, or that might fall on tangled paths through little used woodland.
Waiting for the water to heat. Time for a shower, and then into town to watch some experimental / noise type bands at the West Hill. As is often the case these days, and particularly on these Saturday evenings, what I would most like to do is just to sit on my bed in silence, and watch it get dark outside.
Perhaps when I have my week off from work, at the end of this month that feels like home.