They buzz their lips in a flying noise and work the controls, Rafe's bare feet on one pedal, Danny's on the other. They wear overalls and have bowl haircuts: RAFE and DANNY, 10 years old. They've even attached a 2x4 as propeller, as if their imaginations needed any help. The boys sit in it's cockpit, butts crowded onto the nail keg they've replaced the seat with. The barn is unpainted except for hand lettering that says "McCawley Crop Dusting." Another plane noise, this one made by kids, brings us to TWO BOYS, sitting in the shell of an old plane propped on crates, scavenged of it's engine, seats, and wheels. But as long as there's been an America, men have fought and died for this place - as volunteers. Maybe it's not heaven, maybe it's just Tennessee. Up into a crystalline blue sky where sunshine pours like honey over family farms stretching to the horizon. It releases a trail of crop spray, and climbs again. Is a biplane, racing over a field lush with young plants. We see the earth through the pilot's perspective as sky and ground swap positions, the plane swooping down and storming over the ground. Out of BLACK we hear the sound of an airplane roaring by.įlying over American heartland.
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