Fine line tattoo of two bird silhouettes on a blossoming branch under a crescent moon, with the script words to the moon and back, on the side ribs.

Birds on a branch with moon on the ribs

Fine line · Ribs · Mixed · Photo

The tattoo shows two solid black bird silhouettes perched on a thin branch with small pink blossoms, with a crescent moon above and a script quote beneath. The birds are filled in with solid black, while the branch and blossom lines are fine and delicate, and the lettering is thin black script. The ink is mostly black and grey with small pink accents, and the design runs horizontally across the ribs beneath a lace garment edge.

Fine line Botanical Ribs Bird Branch Blossom Moon Script Quote Silhouette

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You are fourteen the spring Mrs Pellow lets the top floor of Cliff View to a widower called Mr Teague, who pays a month in advance and asks only for a room with a view of the water. Each morning you carry his tray up the narrow stairs, and each morning the sash is open a finger's width, as if he expects someone to fly in.

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The sea wind is cold on the landing. Mr Teague keeps a notebook of the birds that settle on the rail outside: two blackbirds that always arrive together, a pair of wagtails that quarrel, and on wet nights a single gull who sits as though she has mislaid her way. He shows you the pages once, a pencil stub behind his ear. "Every bird wants something to perch on," he says, tapping a sketch of a bare branch, "even the ones who only want the moon."

In May the cherry in the square comes into blossom, and he stops finishing his breakfast. You find him at the window before dawn with the notebook shut in his lap, the crescent moon still pale above the harbour wall. He has written a line at the bottom of the last page in careful script. "Who is it to?" you ask. He lifts the tray without answering and says the blackbirds have gone, and when you look across the road the pair is perched on the cherry tree, close together, the pink flowers around them like a sudden weather.

That afternoon you go up with the post. The room is empty and the sash is still open a finger's width. On the sill lie two petals, pink as the inside of a shell, held down by a pebble from the beach.