Autumn in California

Easter-coasters who disdain California's lack of a "real" fall have perhaps not experienced the full autumn here. In my area, there is a stunning variety of trees, some of which turn the traditional yellow and red (or even purple!) and others of which stay green. Look up from the right vantage point, and you might behold golden gingko leaves, crimson and orange liquid amber leaves, and the evergreen bough of a pine tree, all in front of a clear blue sky.

There is a row of liquid ambers along my street. Curiously, about half are cranberry-red right now, and threatening to drop their leaves, while the others are still green and bushy, just tinged with purple near the tops. Some difference in temperament, I suppose.

Autumn here is an extended affair. It begins with a subtle shift in light quality in late August. The burning sun of Labor Day is already singing the leaf tips. The temperature usually stays high through September, but the trees aren't fooled; the precocious ones rush into their last set of foliage, while the nostalgic ones begrudge only a small darkening of the lush summer green. The inevitable first rains arrive in October, alternating with the crisp, sunny warmth that lightens my heart at this favorite time of year.

The morning light is decidedly gray by Halloween, and the sunny days can only be be called pale. Nearly all the trees have trended into the ROY half of ROY G. BIV, and some are even casting off their burdens, the evidence scattered on the sidewalk below. Mild rains come and go, but without strong winds. This means the process of dropping leaves will continue well into December, or even January. And of course, some trees choose not to do it at all. We celebrate individuality here.

I have stood in awe of multicolored forests in New England. And I revel in the drawn-out, languidly exuberant process of change on this coast, too.