A Side-Effect of Seagulls

Twilight seems to fall at odd times now, and the twilights themselves are odd; gold and muted, the colour of autumns and half remembered dreams. I am not sure why twilight seems to fall at an odd time now. It is certainly getting earlier. This is, of course, to be unexpected, but the precise time at which it starts to get dark - about half an hour or so before I leave work, doesn't seem to belong to either winter or spring. An odd side effect of this twilight is that the seagulls seem to react too. Throughout most of the past week, when I have noticed that gold feverish silence of dusk creep up, I notice a sudden flurry of wings. I would like to say the seagulls are in a frenzy of movement, but the opposite is the case. Despite this shadowy, blurry movement, the seagulls - as I look out of the fourth floor window of the call centre - seem oddly frozen. The effect puts me in mind of a painting, the anonymous V-shapes seemingly unmoving against the by-degrees darkening sea, the light-fading uncertainty of the sky. Twilights are so quick, and seem somehow to last forever. As I stood watching the seagulls today, it felt as if it could be any time. A memory perhaps, or something dreamt, rather than something experienced. The call centre felt ancient, as if it had been there forever.
The moment passed and the seagulls flew away.
I finished work, walked home through winter cold and pre-snow darkness
I forgot about the seagulls.