The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Tall stalks of dry corn sway in the light breeze of a crisp autumn afternoon. A small, rusty old water pump somehow continues to steadily pump water from a well into a nearby trough, despite having a broken handle. Like, a few wispy clouds drift lazily across a clear blue sky, casting dappled shadows over the dry earth and withered remains of a nearby vegetable garden. Uh, the air is filled with the smell of damp earth and decaying leaves.