Southern California Autumn

Autumn is coming to Southern California. It's subtle, and if you don't pay attention, you'll miss it coming and you'll miss it going.

It shows up mostly in the ivy that grows on retaining walls or in the liquidambar trees. I hunt for it and savor it each year, pretending when I see it that I live somewhere with seasons, with Octobers that turn gold and red and have a cold bite in the air.

I don't really like liquidambar trees, but I put up with them this time of year because they're the trees most likely to turn actual colors. Other deciduous trees go from green to brown to bare without bothering to find a color along the way.

At first glance, liquidambars look like maple trees, with their hand-shaped leaves. But it's a ruse--an elaborate deception inflicted on the unwary. Maple trees hide their seeds in delicate wing-shaped pods that separate and spiral to the ground like a ballet of tiny helicopter blades. It's a delight to watch the helicopters and even to anticipate their coming.

But liquidambars hide their seeds in hideous spike-balls that drop to the ground without any grace, littering the grass beneath the trees. No ballet. Nothing to delight the eye. Only brown seed balls that crunch underfoot.

Still, I parked the car on a quiet street and took pictures of a liquidambar tree trying to proclaim that autumn is here. I'll take its word and watch for the autumn leaves that are changing amid summer flowers still in full bloom.

It's worth the effort.