Last Hours of the First Half

Sat in Joe Bird's spare room. Sun is shining outside, I can see a red brick house across the street. Can't hear anything but birdsong. Not those siren seagulls of Brighton, but English summer birds. So quiet here. No voices, no cars, nothing.
I leave Worcester in a few hours, and arrive back in Brighton at just gone 5pm. I can hear the chiming of the cathedral bell. A voice from the past; Sunday songs drifting through the haze. So hot again. Makes everything seem so unreal. This all feels so unreal. I'm sure I will wake up soon, and I'll be going back to work on Monday... Not to be though.
Fractured sleep last night. The two Joes went out drinking. I really didn't feel like it. Stayed in with Eva, Joe's dog - dogs are always fantastic company - and wrote a song on the guitar about (probably) having to leave Brighton. I went to bed before they got back - it was light when they returned. I slept for a bit, but then drifted into a kind of half conscious slumber. Fragments of the sky getting lighter, the layers of blue lightening, and each lighter shade drawing me closer to this unwelcome morning when I leave this landlocked city for another by the sea, for how long I can't know.
Ups and downs. Waves of optimism crashing down to disheartened tides.
Two hours until I leave Worcester. The first half of my life, if last weeks ponderings prove correct (and it seems that my premonitions have been remarkably accurate of late) Then the 6 hour train journey, neither here nor there, then whatever is to come begins.
I wonder how I'll remember this moment in times to come, this turning point. Will I be in Brighton this time next week or in Cornwall back at my parents house? And the summer? And where will I call home come autumn?
The cathedral bells are chiming again.
I'll sit in the garden for the swansong of these years.