The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A small, rusty plow is just sitting in the middle of a vast, open wheat field, surrounded by thousands of crows that are meticulously weeding out the field by pulling out individual, unwanted plants. Like, the sun's pretty low in the sky, so it's probably late afternoon, and the air's crisp and cool with a hint of damp earth. The crows are all working in silence, their only sound the soft rustling of the wheat as they move through it, and a small, perfectly straight dirt path is somehow forming behind the plow, even though nothing's actually moving it.