Seasons
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the amazing character of Remus J. Lupin.
-----------------------------
Remus' year always started in autumn.
The bare trees of the season were the first sign, whispering to him the prospect of yet another year. He'd always sigh as he'd watch the rainfall, hammering a gloomy tune unto the latched glass. And afterward, when he'd look to see the extravagant leaves, damp and plastered to the earth, he'd always throw the window open. Even from a distance, he'd be able to smell the pungent scent that could only belong to a freshly watered earth. Remus loved that smell, and he loved the rain. If it wasn't for the anticipation of winter, autumn could've been his favourite time of the year.
Winter never was his season.
Even in Remus' blurry memories of himself as a child, he'd never liked snow. He'd sit, once in a while, by the window and stare at the white blanket, not once understanding the whispers of its beauty. The season turned everything into a frozen picture, devoid of life. When winter came along, it always seemed that the world turned black and white, or at least that's how it'd seem in his mental photograph. The air was too sharp, the wind too harsh. The weak light of morning always hurt his eyes, and he could never stop the coldness from seeping into his very being. He only bore this by expectation for better days.
When spring came along, so did life.
It amazed Remus how the smallest thing in the season could mean so much. The song of birds coming in through the open windows never failed to clear his mind. Watching the budding flowers and feeling crisp warmth on his face felt like life itself to him. Spring gave him smiles, and hopes, and it marked his soul. It always felt like that a time like this, nothing could go wrong; it felt like a time of healing, and forgiveness. It was then that he was the most content, for it came naturally. He always felt that in spring, he would never have to worry about anything. Everything went and came… and so did summer.
He never decided his feelings towards summer.
At times, the season seemed to be the most amazing of all. The sunsets were the most intriguing, the freedom the wildest, and the nights the brightest. He made a habit of watching the endless star grids through his window, trying to count as far as he could see before becoming drowsy and falling asleep. Afterward, the days would be bright and the weather hot, speaking of a lazy, relaxed atmosphere. But for him, there was always something that didn't feel right. Something just seemed to be faintly wrong, like knowing that something was misplaced. Maybe it was that the sun was too scorching, or the light was too bright. He never understood why he felt this way.
But then it was autumn again.
-----------------------------
Please review! I feel that this one sounds choppy. Tell me what you thought.