The Fiddle Maker

The Fiddle Maker

Timber lengths lay flat
Seasoned, stored, and stacked
Turned, pencil marked face-up
then down, rested in
His air-dry store.

Ebony, spruce, and rosewood
Gifts from a generous forest.
He trusts nature will provide him
a piece with a broad smile,
A stout slice of spruce.


A partnership, of eye, form, and touch
Secrets passed down from father to son
and before them.
A template,
Sent to us by ancient gods

With handed down accoutrements,
 bits and bobs and unnamed thingamabobs
Gentle hands make visible the fiddle form

In black ebony, he fashioned the bridge,
Stops, pegs and a cushioned chin rest
Gut strings wound with thin steel wire
Then pulled up and stretched to concert pitch.

Tuned to please the hungry ear
Codes to unlock the tune and dance
We board music's magic carpet
And take the audio flight to another world.

Pay silent homage to the gifted hands

A fine fiddle -yes!

jim Halley