Colour tattoo on an upper arm showing a green tent beneath pine trees and stars, with the words HOME IS WHERE YOUR HEART IS arched above and below the scene.

Camping tent and quote on upper arm

Lettering · Upper arm · Mixed · Photo

The tattoo shows a green tent set among dark pine trees under a night sky with small stars, framed by the words HOME IS WHERE YOUR HEART IS in bold capitals. The lettering is dark red and crisp, while the trees and sky use grey shading and the tent has soft green tones. The design is arranged in a circular composition around the tent, with the text curving above and below it on a forearm-to-upper-arm area of skin.

Lettering Upper arm Tent Pine tree Star Night sky Camping Quote Text

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mind the puddle by the bins, love, it's deeper than it looks, and don't let Terry on the fish stall talk you into a cod that's been out since Tuesday. Right. Where was I? Ah yes. Mavis Tennant sold teas from a trestle under the market canopy, and the rain had been coming down on Haverleigh since the start of the month, drumming on the tarpaulins like it wanted paying. Her boy Eddie had gone north with a green canvas tent he'd bought off a man who owed him money, and he pitched it among the pines above a reservoir where nobody with sense would camp.

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The postcards came every fortnight, each one smelling faintly of pine resin. The first said the ground was hard and the midges were worse than the rain. The second said the stars up there were so thick you could very nearly hear them. Mavis read that one out loud to the queue for Earl Grey, and Dorothy Pike, who has never in her life looked up at anything but the price of butter, said that boy had been at the cider again. Mavis told her the trick was to lie very still and stop listening for the traffic on the A-road.

The last card came in October with no picture on the front. Across the back, in pencil pressed so hard it had dented the card, Eddie had written one line: home is where your heart is. Mavis had never known him to write anything plain in his life. She tucked the card into her apron pocket and went back to the kettle, and the rain went on falling as if it had all the time in the world.

On the Saturday she packed the urn into the van, drove north with the wipers losing the argument, and found the pitch under the pines exactly where the postcards had said. The tent was still standing, and so was Eddie, with a pan of porridge going on a stove and pine needles caught in everything. She didn't say a word about the cider. She just sat down on his upturned crate, took the cup he handed her, and listened for the stars.