Writing Drill

Jasmine needed to look at this picture closely, describe it in her own words and draw her own version of it.  Here it is.

Cacti grow near the sandy road.  Tumbleweeds blow this way and that.  Clouds lazily drift by with no sign of rain.  The air is hot and dry without a breeze.  A saloon is closed because there aren’t any people to run it.  Every house is gray because they need a new coat of paint.  Only the heartiest of plants and animals remain.  No sound comes from the saloon, only the occasional chittering and chattering of birds.  The skeletons of unlucky dehydrated cows remain.