When the Wild World Winks
Winter - Week 9 2025 - On Nature's Playfulness, Small Delights, and Laughter as Resistance
In Her Nature is a year long exploration into the healing power of the natural world. Season by season, setting out to awaken the spirit, and rekindle joy. The weekly journal of a neighborhood, its plants and birds and creatures — and how they are helping repair a heart and rebirth a soul.
A giggle burst forth from my lips so unexpectedly that I startled myself, then fell into amusement at my own surprising glee. The sound in my ears was so familiar and yet I couldn't recall the last time I truly heard my own laughter. It was quiet outside, only the whip of the wind and the chortle of a fifty-something woman.
What was I so entertained by?
A battalion of tumbleweeds had spontaneously invaded the barn perimeter, appearing from nowhere and everywhere, as if summoned by some silent prairie commander.
They came in all sizes, some massive and bristly like hairy creatures from another world, others tiny and desperate to keep up with their larger companions. Each one tumbled with seemingly deliberate purpose, all unified in their westward mission toward the mountains.
There was something inherently comedic about their bouncing, haphazard journey across the land. I stood awhile and watched with joy, as some careened erratically off fence posts, while others pirouetted gracefully across the dirt before getting trapped in corners, vibrating impatiently in the wind. A few ambitious ones even attempted to scale the stable walls, only to fall back in what looked like comical defeat. And for a moment, I felt a flash of concern as a tumbleweed rolled directly toward my friend riding in the arena, stopping right at Quinn's feet. But the horse simply bent his head down with perfect nonchalance, caught the tumbleweed, and began chewing on his unexpected snack—sending us all into fits of laughter.
The slapstick comedy of their chaotic parade was pure delight. These windblown vagabonds, the rootless wanderers of the plains, performed with such choreography that I couldn't help but feel they were putting on a show.
And in a week where shadows seemed to deepen both at home and across the globe, this moment of light-heartedness arrived as a welcome remedy. It seems Mother Nature, in her infinite wisdom, offers precisely what we need when we need it most.
She knows when to bring tranquil sunsets to calm a troubled heart, when to send gentle rain to cleanse a weary soul, and when to orchestrate playful tumbleweeds to coax laughter from lips that have forgotten how to smile. Her timing is impeccable. Just when the weight of the world grows too heavy on our shoulders, she sends these small moments of delight to remind us that joy still exists, that lightness remains possible even in dark times.
Perhaps this is her greatest gift. Not just the grand vistas that leave us breathless, but these unexpected moments of whimsy that reconnect us with our own capacity for wonder and help us remember how to laugh. In a world that often demands our seriousness, she insists upon our unfettered joy.
It turned out to be a week of fits and giggles. As after my tumbleweed adventure, Mother Nature continued offering me her playful side everywhere I looked. The Western Meadowlark's cheerful "gurgle-gurgle-TEEE-toodle-loo" now sounded less like birdsong and more like a feathered comedian testing their microphone. My dog's tail wagged with such enthusiasm that I found myself checking for lift-off clearance, half-expecting him to helicopter into the afternoon sky.
At the barn, my friend's mini-cows Tater and Slider seemed like bovines accidentally shrunk in a science experiment, especially Slider, who presents his tiny rear end for scratches with the enthusiasm of a Labrador, and the dignity of a cow one-quarter his intended size. Even my towering Peruvian Apple Cactus, standing proudly at eight feet tall, has me suddenly blushing at its unmistakably suggestive silhouette against the sunset. The world around me has transformed into a stage of small comedies to which I am so thankful.
Meanwhile, the neighborhood guinea hens provide daily street theater. These polka-dotted neurotics with their too-small heads wobble down the road in tight formation, like a feathered SWAT team with terrible training. Their perpetual "buck-wheat" alarm calls announce crucial breaking news: a leaf moved, a shadow shifted, existence continues! When startled (which is always), they execute their signature move - a frantic waddle-sprint in random directions, proving that evolution sometimes prioritizes entertainment value over actual survival skills.
When I am among the trees, especially the willows and the honey locust, equally the beech, the oaks and the pines, they give off such hints of gladness. I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself, in which I have goodness, and discernment, and never hurry through the world but walk slowly, and bow often. Around me the trees stir in their leaves, and call out, “Stay awhile.” The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say, “and you too have come into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine.”
– Mary Oliver
What a triumph! These last days, I've found myself laughing more than usual, which raises a curious question: am I seeing more joy because I'm allowing more in? It's extraordinary to discover the silly side of nature when, for so long, I've only chosen to see the grand, the profound, and the serene. How limiting that perspective seems now, as if I've been touring an art gallery studying only the masterpieces while missing the playful sketches.
The same nature that offers deep wisdom also delivers moments of pure delight and humor. Perhaps we don't always get to choose our lighthouses. Nature will illuminate our path with both profound insights and a playful wink. She knows exactly when to be solemn and when a bit of comedy is the better medicine.
These moments of levity in my garden and during walks around my community have been more than mere entertainment, they've been a form of relief I didn't know I needed. All conspiring to remind me that heaviness isn't the only appropriate response to a weighty world. In teaching us to laugh again at life's small comedies, nature offers that joy, too, can be a compass pointing us toward strength and resilience.
As darkness seems to gather at the edges of our world, these simple gifts of laughter may be quietly preparing us—arming us with the most enduring strength of all: the ability to find light and fortify our spirits for whatever lies ahead.
Your Weekly Nature Rx:
PRESCRIPTION FOR: Finding Joy in Life's Small Comedies
DOSE: Daily, as needed for heaviness of heart
DIRECTIONS: Seek out the unexpected comics of nature: tumbleweeds dancing across fields, birds performing their morning routines, small animals going about their important business.
Allow yourself to be surprised by the absurd and whimsical aspects of the natural world.
Make time to observe without agenda; notice the "playful sketches" alongside the masterpieces.
Let yourself laugh out loud, and share these moments with others when possible - laughter is more potent when shared.
REFILLS: Unlimited
SIDE EFFECTS MAY INCLUDE: Spontaneous giggles, lightened spirits, increased resilience, newfound appreciation for guinea hens, and the ability to find humor even when the days feel darker.
SPECIAL INSTRUCTIONS: When the world feels particularly heavy, double the dose. Remember that seeing joy often begins with allowing it in.
—> What moments of natural wonder caught your attention this week? Please share your stories and photos in the comments below. Let's experience nature's gifts together.
As always, thank you so much for reading and supporting me.
Love,
Jane