This is probably true for most of us writers. Whenever I find myself drifting off, leaving the conversation, watching the scenery out the car window, lying in bed in that fuzzy place between sleep and consciousness, I start to imagine other worlds. This morning before the sun appeared and my eyes were still closed, I listened to a lone cricket somewhere in the grass outside my bedroom window. Its crick was weak and irregular, and I imagined it was seeking a friend, a lover...or perhaps calling out to a lost friend. Perhaps, I thought, it has lost its way and was calling for help, for direction. Before long I had created a whole story. Such is the life of a writer - whether for children or adults. But, you know what? I absolutely love it.
Then I thought, do our children get the same chance these days to just sit and imagine? Is everything pre-programed for them? I hope not. We should let our children drift with the clouds on sweet summer days - encourage them to imagine what might - what could be.