Nearly mid-November and all the leaves have moved past oranges and reds to the final yellows before falling, falling and the pavements are scattered with them.

There is a certain romance to the hours after dark: candlelight falling across old wood, a game of chess left unfinished, the last glass of wine beside a stack of books.

There is a moment, somewhere between the last warm afternoons and the first properly cold mornings, when getting dressed begins to feel interesting again.

There is always something slightly astonishing about September, the way the light seems to withdraw almost before one has noticed it going. Autumn is still four days away, officially, yet the rains have come already, and last night, sometime before eight, I looked up and realised that the day had nearly disappeared.

Yes, it’s that time of year when everyone reaches for that familiar F. Scott Fitzgerald line from The Great Gatsby: “Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.” There are still weeks of summer left, but the evenings have begun to change.

Though Weekend Links has fallen away, the thread itself has never been broken. Each week, at the opening of Hyperreality, we gather the fleeting moments, passing thoughts, and small currents of ordinary days before they drift beyond reach.