Black and grey blackwork tattoo of a bare tree, a flock of birds in flight and a dark forest silhouette on the inner forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Bare tree and birds on a forearm

Blackwork · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A bare tree with branching limbs rises up the forearm, with a flock of black bird silhouettes flying off towards the wrist. The base of the trunk dissolves into a dense dark forest with soft shaded edges, set against a beige carpet. The composition uses only black ink and grey tones, with the arm raised toward the top of the frame.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Oswy had counted the rooks on the dead oak every morning since the spring her husband went south with the salt caravans. Forty-one in March, thirty-three in May. She counted from the threshold while the bread cooled, the way another woman might say a prayer, and she never told the priest, because he would have wanted to count with her.

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The forest behind the hut ran down to the river in one unbroken dark, the oaks so thick that noon was dusk beneath them. Only the old tree stood clear, its limbs bare and grey as bone, and it was there the birds gathered before they lifted and streamed off over the water toward the bend in the valley road. Her grandson Teo said they were going to fetch the summer back. Oswy told him birds did not fetch anything. They only left.

On the first cold morning of autumn she found forty-one rooks on the branches again, all of them facing the same way, and not one moved when she stepped out with the bowl. She stood a long time with the wooden bowl going cold in her hands. Then she understood they were not waiting for scraps. They were waiting for her to stop counting.

She set the bowl on the step, pulled her shawl tight, and followed the road down past the last oak. When the flock rose behind her in a single dark rush, she did not look back at the trees, and for the first time since March the number on the branches meant nothing to her at all.

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