rising over a hill like a levitating scoop of ice cream. I looked west and saw sailboats drifting on the Firth of Lorn and a seemingly infinite array of islands floating out into the Atlantic. I decided to stay awhile to drink it in. There I realized that Auden was right after all. Poetry had made nothing happen. But that, in and of itself, was something extraordinary. Luing
A Poem by Don Paterson
from The New York Times: Poetry Made Me Do It: My Trip to the Hebrides
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