Jules - Yellow

Prompt: Yellow 

Musical inspiration: Robin the Rain by Raffi

Jareb Wiseman was going his normal farm chores on afternoon in April/May, specifically mucking out Chayton’s stall, when he heard the splish, splash, splosh of little feet running past the barn doors, through the puddles that gathered below the eaves.  It didn’t register, at first, that anything was out of ordinary.  Then he realized there shouldn’t be puddles … and his niece should be asleep.  Parking the shovel on the nearest vertical surface, he hurried to the door.  Somehow he had missed that a sunshower had started, the sunlight sparkling through a shimmering, crystal curtain of rain.  And there in the garden was his Juliet.

     She was clad in a bright yellow hat, what had formerly been a bright yellow slicker but was now covered in mud, except for the front, and, rather unseasonably for Montana, a pair of jean shorts.  Her bare feet splashed through the mud as she moved about between the garden, front yard, and barn yard.  She would stand still for several long moments up on her tip toes, then drop down and bob with her elbows out, squatting slightly.  Once this ritual was complete she would scurry, scurry, scurry to another location, her feet a blur until she suddenly STOPPED dead in her tracks, rising up to her tiptoes again and surveying her surroundings.  Every once in a while something on the ground would catch her eye as she was bob, bob, bobbing and she would bend fully to snatch it up, examine the muddy object, and shove it in the pocket of her rain slicker.  After the fourth or fifth time Jareb saw her pick something up his curiosity won out.  The rain had abated as he made his way across the yard, avoiding the worst of the mud puddles.

     “Jujuberry!” he called.  The little girl started, nearly dropping whatever was on the way to her pocket.  She looked slightly guilty, rain having turned her hair to ropes around her pale face, exaggerating her big, startling blue eyes.

    “Hello Uncle Jareb,” she said softly, muddy hands disappearing behind her back and muddy toes digging into their place.

    “What are you doing?” he asked, trying to put enough curiosity in his voice to draw her out, keeping out was much judgemental concern as possible.  “Was that a rain dance?”

    “No!” the girl gasped, appalled that her uncle could not identify her inspiration.  “I’m pretending to be a robin, silly!”

    “Oh!” was the only reply that immediately came to mind.  “That’s why you were scurrying and bobbing?”

    “And stretching up to look for cats, just like Mr. Robin-in-the-Rain,” she demonstrated.  “And I put mud on my coat so I would look like one.  I couldn’t find anything red for the front so I decided I was just a pretty lady robin all dressed up.”

    “I see,” her uncle said mock gravely, getting in the spirit as he nodded.  “And what have you been putting in your pocket, my little robin yellow-feather?”

    The guilty look came back and she glanced at the ground, rather embarrassed.  She had meant to put them back before she was caught. Oh well, maybe her uncle wouldn’t laugh.  With a long-suffering sigh she reached a grubby hand in and withdrew a writhing handful.

    Jubal couldn’t help it, he gave a bark of laughter at the sight of the worms and his niece’s guilty face, then gently kissed her mud speckled cheek to soothe any ruffled feathers.  “You may be a robin my dear, but I hope you weren’t planning on serving those for lunch.  I don’t think there are enough and I am still a human, you know.”

    Jules giggled.  He had laughed at her but he was so silly, what a thought!  “No!  I was going to put them in the garden for the plants and birds.  I don’t want to eat them!”

    “Oh thank goodness,” Jared sighed in exaggerated relief, wiping his brow.  “Why don’t you put your friends in their new home while I finish in the barn.  You can give Chay a carrot then take a bath to wash those muddy robin feet and I’ll make you people food lunch.”

    “Grilled cheese and tomato soup?” Jules asked eagerly.

    “With a surprise for dessert,” Jareb promised.

    Nearly an hour later a freshly clean Juliet sopped up the last of her soup from her Ariel bowl with the crust of her sandwich.  Sighing in contentment she snuggled into her soft robe (her clothes were in the dryer).  She had forgotten her uncle’s promise until a clear plastic cup descended in front of her.  She stared at the brown concoction covered in dark brown crumbles for a moment then squealed in delighted laughter as the bright colored spots made sense.  While she was in the bath her uncle had mixed up chocolate pudding and Oreos and put gummy worms in it!  She had muddy worms she could eat!  What a happy robin she was.


     AN:  You all haven't met Jules yet but she's my NaNo13 main character.  I'll be posting more about her soon.  Also, this is not the best intro or conclusion I've ever written but oh well.  I like the middle.  824 words.

Day 23 - The smell of winter and crazy writers

August 23 - The smell of air in winter

The air in winter is plain, smokey and boring.   Except for right after a snow.  Then the air is still, clean, clear, warm, and magical.  I love to stand in our backyard and sing "Winter Wonderland", preferably after dark so the porch light illuminates the snow and casts the prettiest shadows.  (Fewer chances of eavesdroppers too.)
Spring mostly smells like snot to me because I am so stuffed up I can't smell anything else.  Spring smells like mud and dirt and rain and new things growing.  And wet dog.  :)
Summer smells like sunscreen and chlorine and campfire smoke.  And it is not summer until I have used my SPF 15 Sun Shades Harvest Berry lipbalm. ♥♥♥  Summer smells like wet concrete ans sea and, if I have my choice, sulfur.  Yellowstone or airshow or both.  Acrid but comforting.  Home.
My favorite season to smell though is autumn.  There is a change come September and October (my favorite month ;)) that I live for.  As the cold air begins to creep in the first wood fires are lit in stoves and fireplaces in the neighborhood giving the air a warm, rich scent.  There is also a smell in the first week of September, psychosomatic I'm sure, but it smells like school.  Old musty books and new pencils and binders and backpacks and jams of people.  The smell of Eastwood and happiness.  Autumn is also when those bags of cinnamon pine cones show up.  When the shelves are stocked with apple and cinnamon and spiced candles and everything becomes cozy and happy.
Winter is nice, but I love autumn.

Day 23 - What Writers Do

Some authors have very interesting ways of writing.  One gets up at 4 am, sets his laptop screen so dark he can't read what he's writing, writes for a few hours, then goes back to bed until 8:30 am at which point he edits what he wrote.  Another writes 250 words every fifteen minutes from 5:30 am to 8:30 am.
They are both NUTS.  Or morning people.  Or both.  How the heck do you get anything coherent or legible out that early???  I prefer writing in the afternoon or at night, depending on my schedule and mood.  Some scenes only come out after dark, when I'm alone.  And that sounds bad!  :)
It also lists two authors who use different font methods: 8 pt so they have to squint to read and 14 Courier.
I'm more of a Verdana/Georgia myself.  Times New Roman if I'm using a word processor too.  I prefer rounder fonts to think with, in a comfortable 10-12 pt reading size.