It was a crisp, sunny morning, and as I drove down the highway, I flipped on the radio. Suddenly, my car was filled with the music of Vivaldi’s "The Four Seasons" — the Autumn section. My first thought was: "how appropriate."
That day, it really did feel like autumn.
But as I listened — well, I was sort of singing along — I realized something was off. The rhythms weren’t the familiar patterns I knew so well. The melody was altered. Jarring, really.
It turns out I was hearing "Recomposed by Max Richter: Vivaldi—The Four Seasons." I’ve since listened to Richter’s "Autumn" a few more times. It’s fascinating, but I can’t escape the discomfort of its unpredictability.
And that same unease carries over into how I feel about autumn itself these days.
All my life, the rhythms of nature were relatively predictable. I knew more or less when the leaves would turn, when the warblers would migrate, and when we could expect the first frost.
But now in this time of climate change, the rhythms are shifting. Instead of a steady cooling, we bounce from chilly to hot to chilly again. Leaves stay green longer. Birds and insects linger.
And that’s unsettling... in all four seasons. What happens if some birds use day length to time migration, but warm springs cause insect hatches weeks before the birds arrive? What happens when acorns and berries ripen too soon, before migrants can feed on them? And if autumn warmth lingers, harmful insects may get extra generations.
This unpredictability ripples outward — farmers, hunters, event planners. How do they set their schedules? Can we still rely on the a regular arrival of harvests, spawning fish, migrating birds, snow and tourists?
Both Richter’s "Autumn" and the season itself remain beautiful. But the rhythms of life — still a powerful beat — are now unpredictable.
