DX01: SINGULARITY 06739

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, an endless expanse of wheat fields stretches out, swaying gently in the breeze under a pale blue sky with a few wispy clouds. It's around mid-morning, judging by the sun's position. The air's dry and still, with a sweet smell of wheat and a faint tang of fertilizers, but what's weird is that all the wheat stalks seem to be slowly rearranging themselves to spell out random, mundane phrases like 'thank you' or 'hello friend' in giant letters, like some sort of giant, plant-based printer. A bunch of crows is lazily flying overhead.