Late at night, Harp Oletsky stands outside his niece Asphodel's bedroom door, taking comfort in knowing his household is asleep and safe. He gazes out at Venus shimmering above the wheat fields, marveling at the strange beauty of the light and the depth of space.

Harp observes that his wheat has grown remarkably overnight, from shin height to waist height and from green to gold, easily the best crop he has ever raised. He opens the window, breathes in the night air, and speaks affectionately to his scarecrow, half-jokingly asking for one ordinary night.

Reflecting on his ongoing spiritual struggle, Harp credits Cleo Allfrey with teaching him to redirect his perspective: rather than asking Why me?, he is learning to ask simply Why? and to look outward, as Cleo does through her camera, attending to what wants to be seen and known.

Continuing to question God about why his land alone has been spared the dust, Harp walks his rows and finds no weeds, weevils, or heat damage. He arrives at a new possibility: that his miraculous wheat is neither punishment nor reward, neither blessing nor curse. Something else, he senses, is quietly developing beneath the clear Nebraska sky.