A Remembrance of G. Randolph Erskine
by his son Kit Erskine
Let the Bobbin Hang
The smell of feather and fur
Mixed with lacquer meant he was tying.
The roll top desk strewn
with hooks, scissors, bobbin and thread.
All in orderly chaos.
His vise was center stage.
Thread and bobbin held in surgeon’s hands.
He fingered through a neck of feathers
Finding just the right one.
A few turns of thread adds feather or fur.
Then let the bobbin hang.
The fly was meticulously built
Color and layer, each add dimension.
A tiny work of art was made.
Each turn readies for the next step.
May we let the bobbin hang.
