I was in a jungle of weeds. They climbed over each other in the shade of the house. I leaned my back against the metal siding. Sunlight filtered through the yellow-green leaves onto my face. It was warm. Flowers popped up through the Earth here and there, leaning to catch the sunlight as well.
A daddy-long-leg sat silently next to a grape hyacinth. I watched it. Small bugs climbed on the plant and ground next to it, but the spider didn't move. I looked at a circular knot in a small piece of wood. It blended in well with the dark soil. I looked up again at the hyacinth, but the daddy-long-leg was gone, and the tiny bugs were still there.
The leaves in the bush with lavender flowers rustled when I bent my head and they got tangled in my hair.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a tan bug crawling on a dry brown leaf. It stops moving, and I almost don't believe that I ever saw it moving, but it moves again and scuttles under a leaf.
A spider web glistens where the yellow light hits it. Grasses bob in the wind. Flowers with soft leaves silently announce their presence, white among the berry bushes. Round leaves in a neighboring tree rustle in the wind and sound like a clapping crowd.
The weeds still shoot up through the ground. I may be in a jungle of weeds, but to me, it's a jumbled jungle of life.