~Joy comes in the Morning~
Another day, another dawn, another sunrise spreading dewy fingers out across the spinning world, and we can find Remus Lupin sitting on his porch in silence.
It was Wednesday
He has never much liked Wednesdays. Their symmetry bothered him.
It was also the 15th of June and the new moon, so the symmetry of it all was driving him mad. He didn't even know what it was about symmetry that upset him and made him feel miserable. But in his first week of gardening he'd found more peace and solitude than he ever had in the stuffy, silent house.
The faded black cup he always took his tea in was full of the last of his Earl Grey tea. Tomorrow he would have to use black tea, which always makes him feel hopeless. But he will not miss a sunrise.
It was beauty.
It was tradition.
It made his day worth living.
It gave him colour. His house was grey, his robes were grey with age, and his hair and eyes had begun graying too, like the life was slowly draining from him. It made him look impossibly old and weak. The only part of him that was weak now was his spirit, which was slowly drowning in the isolation and memories that haunted him.
He sipped his tea and watched the sky fade into a deep lilac, then a rosy pink, and then it lingered gold for a moment. He stared right into the glowing sun.
"Nature's first green is gold**..." he mumbled. He began to sip his tea while finishing the poem in his head. By the time he'd finished reciting it, the sky was a pale orange. He paused again, his teacup now empty, and tilted his head to the side thoughtfully.
"Nothing scarlet and gold can stay."
He broke tradition now and stood up too soon, edging his way to the sink and setting down his mug. He glanced as habitually as ever at the tealeaves left in the bottom of his empty mug, grimaced, and with a flick of his wand they were gone.
"Good riddance," he murmured as he turned to pick up his bucket and walk into the early morning glow that would comfort his mind while he worked. Soon the sun would beat down on him once again, the pleasant warmth soaking into his cold, tired body. He nestled himself into the front flowerbed and tried to set his mind on the task ahead of him.
He tried not to think of how he was a weed too; of how much it hurt to be yanked up out of the world and cast aside. How now he was doing onto others as had been done onto him. How he almost liked some of the sad-looking flowering weeds he was pulling out of their lives. How he didn't want to be the instrument of their demise. To ease his mind, he decided to start singing-not because his voice was soothing, but because the words and the act of singing put him into a tribal trance that made the work seem easier. It allowed him to forget the weeds' loneliness, and concentrate on his own.
"I've known sorrow, I've known pain..." He yanked a few green leaved plants up and put them into the yellow plastic bucket that would be their temporary casket.
"I've seen heartache again and again..." He stuffed his hands into the well-worn gloves and began digging through the dirt, rummaging for bits of discarded brick and twigs.
"But I've got this promise to help me endure..." He mixed and fertilized the dirt as he sang.
"So I'll keep trusting, this promise is sure..." He took a second's rest to smell the fresh dirt beneath him, and the heavy perfume of nature.
"Joy comes in the morning, with the breaking of the dawn..." Then he stared at the pale, orange-red sky, longing for these moments to last forever.
"Joy comes in the morning, soon these tears will be gone..." He soaked in the dewy scent of a silent dawn. Then he itched his forehead with the heel of his gloved palm and returned to the flowerbed.
"I've been tested, I've been tried..." A tall, thorny plant he was uprooting put three long scratches in his left arm. One scratch trickled a few drops of blood, and then gave up. All three began to swell and turn a raw pink.
"You've been faithful here at my side..."
He stopped dead-frozen in time. He had just noticed someone standing at the edge of his fence. Not wanting to stare, he stole glances out of the corner of his eye and hummed. No one dared to be caught near his house. Ever. He felt a bit nervous about someone openly listening to him sing. He returned to his work, and eventually forgot he was being watched.
By sunset he had finished clearing all the beds of weeds and would be ready to start planting in the morning.
As he turned for his door, he caught a glimpse of something moving on the other side of his fence. A figure rising from the sidewalk, and abandoning the bush used it had been using for cover. He caught the vague outline of a small girl with her light hair in a sloppy ponytail wearing pale blue clothes. As soon as his screen door snapped shut, he saw the tiny figure skip down the road, faintly humming "Joy comes in the morning."
** "Nature's first green is gold, her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower, but only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf, so Eden sank to grief, so dawn goes down to day. Nothing Gold can stay." (Nothing Gold can stay, author unknown)
Another day, another dawn, another sunrise spreading dewy fingers out across the spinning world, and we can find Remus Lupin sitting on his porch in silence.
It was Wednesday
He has never much liked Wednesdays. Their symmetry bothered him.
It was also the 15th of June and the new moon, so the symmetry of it all was driving him mad. He didn't even know what it was about symmetry that upset him and made him feel miserable. But in his first week of gardening he'd found more peace and solitude than he ever had in the stuffy, silent house.
The faded black cup he always took his tea in was full of the last of his Earl Grey tea. Tomorrow he would have to use black tea, which always makes him feel hopeless. But he will not miss a sunrise.
It was beauty.
It was tradition.
It made his day worth living.
It gave him colour. His house was grey, his robes were grey with age, and his hair and eyes had begun graying too, like the life was slowly draining from him. It made him look impossibly old and weak. The only part of him that was weak now was his spirit, which was slowly drowning in the isolation and memories that haunted him.
He sipped his tea and watched the sky fade into a deep lilac, then a rosy pink, and then it lingered gold for a moment. He stared right into the glowing sun.
"Nature's first green is gold**..." he mumbled. He began to sip his tea while finishing the poem in his head. By the time he'd finished reciting it, the sky was a pale orange. He paused again, his teacup now empty, and tilted his head to the side thoughtfully.
"Nothing scarlet and gold can stay."
He broke tradition now and stood up too soon, edging his way to the sink and setting down his mug. He glanced as habitually as ever at the tealeaves left in the bottom of his empty mug, grimaced, and with a flick of his wand they were gone.
"Good riddance," he murmured as he turned to pick up his bucket and walk into the early morning glow that would comfort his mind while he worked. Soon the sun would beat down on him once again, the pleasant warmth soaking into his cold, tired body. He nestled himself into the front flowerbed and tried to set his mind on the task ahead of him.
He tried not to think of how he was a weed too; of how much it hurt to be yanked up out of the world and cast aside. How now he was doing onto others as had been done onto him. How he almost liked some of the sad-looking flowering weeds he was pulling out of their lives. How he didn't want to be the instrument of their demise. To ease his mind, he decided to start singing-not because his voice was soothing, but because the words and the act of singing put him into a tribal trance that made the work seem easier. It allowed him to forget the weeds' loneliness, and concentrate on his own.
"I've known sorrow, I've known pain..." He yanked a few green leaved plants up and put them into the yellow plastic bucket that would be their temporary casket.
"I've seen heartache again and again..." He stuffed his hands into the well-worn gloves and began digging through the dirt, rummaging for bits of discarded brick and twigs.
"But I've got this promise to help me endure..." He mixed and fertilized the dirt as he sang.
"So I'll keep trusting, this promise is sure..." He took a second's rest to smell the fresh dirt beneath him, and the heavy perfume of nature.
"Joy comes in the morning, with the breaking of the dawn..." Then he stared at the pale, orange-red sky, longing for these moments to last forever.
"Joy comes in the morning, soon these tears will be gone..." He soaked in the dewy scent of a silent dawn. Then he itched his forehead with the heel of his gloved palm and returned to the flowerbed.
"I've been tested, I've been tried..." A tall, thorny plant he was uprooting put three long scratches in his left arm. One scratch trickled a few drops of blood, and then gave up. All three began to swell and turn a raw pink.
"You've been faithful here at my side..."
He stopped dead-frozen in time. He had just noticed someone standing at the edge of his fence. Not wanting to stare, he stole glances out of the corner of his eye and hummed. No one dared to be caught near his house. Ever. He felt a bit nervous about someone openly listening to him sing. He returned to his work, and eventually forgot he was being watched.
By sunset he had finished clearing all the beds of weeds and would be ready to start planting in the morning.
As he turned for his door, he caught a glimpse of something moving on the other side of his fence. A figure rising from the sidewalk, and abandoning the bush used it had been using for cover. He caught the vague outline of a small girl with her light hair in a sloppy ponytail wearing pale blue clothes. As soon as his screen door snapped shut, he saw the tiny figure skip down the road, faintly humming "Joy comes in the morning."
** "Nature's first green is gold, her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower, but only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf, so Eden sank to grief, so dawn goes down to day. Nothing Gold can stay." (Nothing Gold can stay, author unknown)