Personal stories

The temperature of the morning sun creeps in the afternoon, warm biting. I
dragging the folding table made of wood plywood pictorial Power
Green Rangers on the front porch of the house. I prepared crayons and books
My drawing is on the table. I hold on to my pencil and start
draw. It was hard. Many times I ran to the home page
to stalk and map out the object of the house I was about to draw.
Tired. I guess I still have not got a good point of view.
I folded the table and cleaned up the equipment
draw me and walk toward my grassy yard
and mossy because of the rainy season. Somewhat damp. I put my butt down
land and look at my house for a long time. Trying to pervade each
joints and tangible form of my pupils. After getting the image
accordingly, my nine-year-old hand began to line in
on A4 quality picture paper of poor quality. But I still do
the spirit of drawing.
The scorching heat of the sun. Scars of pencils are already cheering on
my drawing paper. I hurriedly went back to the porch after
I get my drawing sketch. Now just thicken the sketch line
and coloring. My lips look cute when I imagine people will
happy to see pictures of our house. Images never made by
anyone. The friction of my crayon and my drawing paper flashed a flame
spirit from the bottom of my body. Despite my family lately
often fighting.