Fall in Memphis is not a season. It is a brief, bloody war between hot and cold, where the chief casualty is the sinus health of everyone in the city.
Such was the case for one James Cooper, a middle-aged man that was trying his best to keep his yard free of the constant downpour of leaves. Mucus ooze flowed freely from his nose, drying into his mustache, as he wrestled with the rake and yard bags.
“This is what I get for living in a place with so many dad-burned trees.” He grumbled to himself.
He’d already piled up several waist-high mounds of leaves around the yard when he noticed the orange tabby cat stalking along the white picket fence at the edge of his yard.
It yowled, taunting him.
James Cooper narrowed his eyes. “Best not, if you know what’s good for ya’.”
But it was too late, the cat was an orange blur around the yard, leaping and pouncing and burrowing into the leaf piles. The piles exploded, the leaves drifting across the yard, back to where they came from.
Looking out across his yard, there was little James Cooper could do, except sniffle.
Fall really is a war in Memphis. Hot days take over for a few days at a time, only to be pushed back by cold ones that are in turn replaced by more hot ones. Temperatures change thirty, somtimes forty degrees in a twenty four hour period. You’re lucky if you make it out with only a mild cold.