The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Gently swaying, unripe wheat stalks cover a rolling hill, sun's about a quarter of the way down in the sky, casting this warm orange light everywhere. Air's still and humid, with a hint of damp earth. Umm, like, at the bottom of the hill, this abandoned combine harvester is half-submerged in what appears to be liquid glass that's somehow slowly draining uphill back into the hill, leaving a trail of dry earth and neatly bundled wheat stalks behind it. Distant sound of gentle rushing water is echoing up from somewhere below.