Do we have free will?

A horizontal oil painting, 16:9, viewed from high above but close enough to see dirt beneath fingernails. A narrow irrigation channel runs diagonally from the upper left to the lower center, carrying gray water through densely packed brown earth. On its right bank, an adult in worn work clothes kneels with both knees in the mud. Their face is mostly hidden by the angle. One hand braces their weight; the other pulls away a fistful of earth, opening the last obstruction between the channel and a crooked, freshly dug trench. The new trench bears the unmistakable marks of repeated work: overlapping finger furrows, a shallow abandoned start, clods piled along its edges. Water has just entered it. Its advancing edge darkens the dry soil only a few inches beyond the person's hand. Most of the water continues along the original channel. The new course bends toward the right edge of the painting, its destination unseen. Flat, cool daylight; no radiant horizon. Earth rendered in thick, dragged paint, water in thin translucent layers, the working hand sharply observed. The composition gives equal weight to the immense compacted bank and the small opening. No lettering, symbols, or decorative elements.