Character from a short story I'm writing:

Alone in the marsh. The air was as uneasy as the white sky surrounding it, unsure if it wanted to rain or simply block the sun’s rays. Nature’s motives are never certain. She is simply, unpredictable.

Alone in the marsh, did the machine lie. Motionless but oh so alive, like the nature that surrounded it. It resembled the popular depiction of an angel: Wings sprouting out of a back, and an aura of mystery, despite how close to people they look.