This seems highly unlikely to be what actually is, of course, but that is sure what appears to be.
She is trudging morosely through town, attracting odd looks, peering around at everything.
"What sorts of weather? Just - rain or something, or does it actually grant power over the elements to whoever sings to it?"
"Do... rain, or not rain, or wind more or wind less, or hotness or coldness, or -" she drops to a forbidding whisper, "do thunderbolts, but so dangerous."
"... Yeah, thunderbolts sound pretty dangerous. I'm glad they're taken seriously."
"Mommy captaining spaceship now, stop thunderbolts if do wrongly."
"Oh, good. That's good. Your mommy sounds like a smart woman."