It’s as if the extension of our media expectations recalls some unfathomable ur-media, like what the Leakeys might have encountered if Lucy had been propped up in a Flintstones editing suite somewhere in the ancient Olduvai.
Sound makes sights real. A movie with the sound turned off is not only inert, but slightly disturbing. Something substantial feels out of balance, and mere intellectual understanding of the problem does not satisfy our need to fix the context. The barest whisper of wind solidifies the clear air of Autumn, moving crispy, auburn leaves through space and into our senses. Autumn colors tell us what’s happening; Autumn sounds saturate our senses.