Vivaldi today ranks as one of the most popular of all composers, probably based on these four concerti. In fact, he was probably the most prolific composer ever, though ironically, he was virtually unknown until the 1920s. He had been ordained a priest but never took up the duties of his office, instead becoming the violin master of a girl's orphanage in Venice. He flourished there and under his guidance, the school became "the" place in Venice to listen to music. There he composed prodigiously, churning out some 400 concertos for solo instruments, 46 operas, and scores of sacred and secular works. Unfortunately in his later years, the Church took action against Vivaldi for not performing his priestly duties (it was rumored he had two mistresses) and his contract with the school was not renewed. In addition, a wealthy patron died and Vivaldi ended up penniless and was buried in a pauper's grave.

After he died, a count purchased the manuscripts of Vivaldi's works from the orphanage, and gave strict instructions in his will that the works must never be published or performed. After nearly 200 years, the will was challenged and overturned and in the late 1920 the world began to hear the sweet music once again.

The Four Seasons is one of those "background" pieces that I heard at an early age. It melodies are woven into the very fabric of Western culture. There is something about it that, for me at least, never makes me regard it as hackneyed, though it gets played to death. Whenever I hear it, I am always surprised at how Vivaldi captured the joy and awe that everyone has felt at one time or another before Nature. For me, each new season, brings a sense of wonder as I see the earth born, mature, die and reborn again through the changing weather, flora, fauna and human activity.

I had intended to write more this evening, but my daughter Simone and I made a peach pie, with the last peaches of the season. Afterwards, we read a chapter from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone out loud. As the weather has coincidentally just turned cold, we cuddled up together on the couch. When we had finished, Simone went to get ready for bed and I made my way to the computer. After writing a few sentences, from upstairs, I heard her calling me: "Dad, Wally has a tick." Our cat had spent the previous night outdoors and since we've had so much rain recently, the insects and arachnids are having a late summer population explosion. So I had to go in search of tweezers, magnifying glass, and eventually cat, as he ran under the bed in fear when he realized our intent. But we plucked the evil arthropod from his cheek and as he's now twining his way among my legs, I think he has forgiven me.

So here's to the first day of Autumn, and may we yours be tick-free.

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