She cries over wilted flowers.
She is the compost police in our house. “Daddy, that goes in the compost. It’s for the trees.”
She heard a Loreena McKennitt song in a movie (Tinkerbelle – go figure) soundtrack and immediately asked for more of “that very lovely voice”. After much youtubing, Mummer’s Dance is her current favorite song.
She doesn’t walk. She flits.
A flock of birds flying over head will stop her in her tracks. She stares up at them and whispers “Oh, beautiful.”
She has started referring to other people as “humans”. “Mama, what are those humans doing?”