A golden leaf, that has dried and now dips inward,

Dangles loosely from a sparse tree

On the cusp of hibernation, and

Is shown in the waning moments

Of dusk to quiver, as if about to fall.

It had never dawned on him,

This perpetual motion.

Winds from the South kick up,

As the sun rises in the East.

Our golden leaf falls, lands perfectly,

And glides as if helped along by tiny

Little hands unseen.

It had never dawned on him,

This perpetual motion.

Down the calming trickle

Of slow-moving stream,

To where a man fishing for leisure

Has just hooked his first

Catch of the day.

It had never dawned on him,

This perpetual motion.

The fisherman’s line

Now entangled in muck,

As he rips through ground

In a fury of lustful wantonness,

Very much unnerved.

It had never dawned on him,

This perpetual motion.

The canoe leaflet shores

And comes to rest on fisherman’s boot.

It reads like life, perennial.

His heart opens, his breathing calms, and his motions ease,

In knowing she is the dawn of something new, of something perpetual.

Joseph J Treubig is an aspiring teacher, avid nature-junkie, living life, whimsically jumbling words that unscramble signs and mix in the mundane, to me its all the same, as there is beauty everywhere, in everything. Ultimately, at the end of the day, just your average Joe, everyday 9 to 5 or so.

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Ed: Dejah Beauchamp