Annual Winds

 
Once a year or
nearly that time
close to before
hands full of grime
I journey to where
I prefer to be.
 
Familiar faces haunt  
the halls and soul
friends breathe life
Into the Gardens
a place I frequent
to meditate or
BBQ.
 
Time-outs to ponder
upon retirement aims
future gains
or past droughts
all this matters not. . .
 
My journey back
a  journey of reflection
would be just that ----
an eternal journey.
a  rebirth (reincarnation)
does not and will not
be my knowledgeable
vacation.
 
Please,
Someone in this Garden
of mine,
rake me a pile of leaves
so that WE might leap
into the pile
wishing our wants,
our lusts,
& our beliefs  
to be  
whisked away
with the  
annual winds  
of ours &  of
 
all time.