I live in snow country. Not too much snow, but enough to want to grab my trash can lid and look up at the sky and wait for it to come.
For me, snow will be an opportunity to shed my adult skin and become a child again.
It is always good for anyone to think like a child for a moment in time to remember the simplicity of life. It is necessary for the children's writer. It's part of our job. It is not an option. It is . . . Oh, well, you get my point. Writers need to shed their adult skin and let their child-self emerge.
Why? You may ask. Simply because if we are to write for children, we need to remember what it felt like to be a child. Remember the bad stuff and the good.
I love to do this by getting on the floor and playing with my grandchildren. Or picking flowers and smelling each one. Or, to remember that time I stood among my relatives looking at my baby sister's casket on a cold December day.
This weekend, I get to play in the snow and remember what it was like when my five siblings and I ran to be first to grab the trash can lid and slide down our hill.