It was the middle of an unusually warm Connecticut December
darkly drizzly deep afternoon.

Drizzly wait,
not long before her hungry needy kids returned from school,
she propped herself against their covered back porch wall,
knees up,
peering out
listening to wonder how her life was the same,
and different,
compared to this river flowing surely and widely
but silently south behind their backyard,
while the river of cars in front
shuttled up and down the state highway’s over-fueled Advent traffic,
punctuated with violent horn blasts,
or perhaps warmly intended “Hello”s, “I’m passing by….”

Passing.
Water toward the south Sound,
carbon-eaters to her back,
across the front yard Advent
of early evening’s commercial family business,
industry,
institutions for competing commodification
flowing stealthily and syncopatedly impatient toward,
and then by-passing away.

By-passing,
messiah’s mass faltering
to sing in her faithful
but worn thin heart and air,
hoping her river loved co-redemptive Sounding ocean
even more than busy motors
surging through more urgent toxic time
invested to completely commodify
this Birthing Wonder’s self-purgative sacred flow
into co-therapeutic nature.

Commodifying home and families
into consumer markets
flowing down her river of mid-December’s discontent
with waiting.

Discontent,
gloaming river fog
spread miraculously radiant by one uninvited yellow street light,
waiting for her family’s bus
to deliver this December night’s transforming birth.