A poem by William Stafford hangs on the wall near my writing desk. Letterpress printed on a broadside by the talented team Marquita Green (she linocut the image and is also the most fabulous woodturner) & Joseph Green (a poet in his own right) on one of their vintage printing presses, Stafford’s prescient words are framed by a woods scene and some deer. I make a habit to read the poem whenever I sit down, and to reflect upon how aptly Marquita and Joe have captured its essence.
A funny thing has happened in the year or so since I put the poem there: it’s become a kind of baseline by which I write, a place from which to jump off each session, and a reminder to allow my characters to be imperiled, whatever that means for each of them.
Meditation
Animals full of light
walk through the forest
toward someone aiming a gun
loaded with darkness.
That’s the world: God
holding still
letting it happen again,
and again and again.
Laura M Gibson 
Fantastic. Thank you for sharing it.