Wood Chopping
"Dad, where's a base?" I asked my Dad as I scanned the wood frantically like a car maker trying to find a bolt. I found the perfect one it was chubby and moderately tall for a block of solid wood. I adjusted the block of wood so I could start chopping.
Chop! Slice! I was hacking as hard as the world's best axe men would in a competition. Although I had an old tommohawk with a wobbly handle it wasn't rusty and it could still cut wood fine, but not this piece.
After a couple hundred swift, careful chops, I had to cut my chunky base up. I let my Dad have one whack and he split it in two uneven pieces with one powerful blow, that wood is as soft as an increedy ball. But now I was going to split the thin half into puny quarters, one swift blow from me and it was a delicate pencil falling over.
Utar
Year 4
Room 17
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