Back when Smith Magazine made Six-Word Memoirs all the rage, my inner wordsmith went into action. But it was my now departed friend Kevin who dashed off mine without a thought:

Zen chick with a Jersey edge.

I adore that.

Today, a bit anxious about a few things, I took to the waterfront with a book delivered to my door just a few days ago: Thirst by Mary Oliver.

First, I am a better person for having read it.

Second, much like the feeling of another uttering my Six-Word Memoir, Oliver has written in her poem “Messenger” a most apt description of my purpose:

… Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be

I stand before you in that place.