Black and grey realism tattoo of a barn owl perched on branches inside an ornate oval frame, placed on the upper arm and shoulder.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Barn owl in an ornate frame on the upper arm

Realism · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A barn owl with a pale, heart-shaped face sits on a branch inside an ornate oval frame with scrolled edges. The feathers are built up with soft grey shading, with finer linework around the eyes and wing detail. The design is centred within the frame and wraps across the upper arm and shoulder.

Realism Upper arm Shoulder Owl Barn owl Branches Leaves Ornate frame Oval frame Scrollwork

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Win, The owl came back on Tuesday, the same as it did last spring, and sat on the lamp bracket of the down platform as though it had bought a ticket and meant to see the whole line. Mr Hollis wants it shot. He says a barn owl on a station is bad luck and bad for the timetable, though I have never once known an owl to delay a train. I told him I would sooner he moved the signal box.

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The thing is, you will remember the old gilt frame from the ladies' waiting room, the oval one with the curling scrolls that nobody could sell after the refit. I took it home for the wall of the cabin, and the owl has taken a liking to it. Every evening it perches on the bottom edge of the frame, pale face turned towards the tracks, as if it were the portrait and we were the sitters. Its heart-shaped face looks more like a lady's than any of the ones Mother kept on the stairs.

Last Thursday the fog came down off the moor so thick I could not see the distant signal from the cabin step. I heard the owl before I saw it, a rough cry from the far end of the goods yard, and then it was there on the points, white as a lamp, calling and calling. I went out with the hand lamp because it seemed the only sensible thing to do. The owl kept ahead of me down the line, lifting and settling, until I reached the place where a fishplate had sheared loose. Eleven minutes later the Leeds goods came through at walking pace and stopped with its nose a yard from the gap.

This morning the frame was empty and there was a single grey feather caught in the scrollwork. I have left it there. Come up at Easter and you can see for yourself. Your loving brother, Arthur.