The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, sunlight's filtering through the wavy patterns on a large piece of corrugated fiberglass, casting distorted shadows on a collection of dusty, antique farm equipment. Like, the air's dry and warm, smelling of diesel fuel, and there's this low hum coming from a vintage irrigation pump, even though there's no water anywhere. A bunch of wild starlings are perched on a dilapidated combine harvester, completely still, except one of them is slowly turning into a tiny, delicate glass vase, its feathers melting away like wax. Outside, a stormy sky stretches out to the horizon.