A/N: I wrote this very, very early this morning, not completely sure if it would be a fic or just a journal entry (even though I don't really keep a journal), but, with some minor revisions to make it fit the time period and location, I think it works. It is a pretty ambiguous little thing, and could really be read from any character's POV, but for some reason, Martha's voice was especially strong in my head.
The sky is light blue, it's about quarter after five and I'm sitting out front listening to the birds watching the world awaken. There are already horse-drawn buggies and pink in the sky over the inn across the street and I've almost been in these clothes for twenty-four hours. The changes in the sky's color are imperceptible. Bugs and moths shoot around me. I'm not tired, despite my inability to fall sleep. Sitting here makes me happy and makes me want to cry all at the same time. I think I'm going to watch the sun rise more often. It's a beautiful morning. I wonder where all these people in their carriages are going so early on a Saturday and what their lives are like, what they think about. Dewdrops on the grass are becoming visible, and the clouds are purple. Everything is pastel, like Easter, but I reek of farm animals. The mist is clearing up. I remember when we took a vacation to France when we were a happy family and everything was okay, and how we ate lobster and sat on our boulder on the beach and watched the sun set over the ocean together. There is a pastel orange cloud now. I wonder who is waking up right at this moment, or making coffee, or taking a bath, and if I will ever meet them, or if they'll walk past me on the street. There is blue in the east and the mosquitoes are waking up and there is a gypsy man in the lot across the street and it is light. The sun is coming. My socks are dirty and I recline against the cold, wet ground and am attacked by bugs, so I sit up. The clouds are no longer purple and I wonder when that happened, and the sun is getting closer, and the earth is big and rotates slowly and I'm sitting on it and it is firm and solid and can support me. How can there be pink clouds and white clouds mixed so closely together? I am not as awake but not tired, but I can see the sun's rays so I know that the sun will come, so I walk my dirty socks through the icy, damp grass to my door to find sleep.