My daughter. We sometimes call her scooter, because of the way she learned to move at first, undulating like a caterpillar. She went directly from that to walking, never crawling.
To me, she’s like a river, full of motion across dimensions. Slowly, the banks widen. Here: rushing water over clattering stones. There: slow water running deep. A permanent mark on my landscape, dividing my life into now and then. The closer I get, the more I see, fractally.