“St. Andrews,” by Robert Crawford

This one’s a bullseye.  Centred at the outer reaches.

Now, I don’t care about golf.  But with the British Open in St. Andrews again this year, TV ads and the sports pages are chockablock with pictures of the city–the castle or cathedral here, the west sands stretching there, the corner of a hotel or shop I used to walk past, a panorama of the three medieval streets through town–and I’ve been feeling plenty of nostalgia and regrets.  So I’ve been reading The Book of St. Andrews this week, making it all better.  And worse.

Crawford’s “St. Andrews” is in the anthology, The Book of St. Andrews, which Crawford also edited (Polygon, 2005).