Black geometric tattoo of concentric circles, arcs and solid dots running down the inner forearm, in black ink.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Concentric circles and dots on a forearm

Geometric · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A large outlined circle contains several thin concentric arcs, with solid black dots placed above, within and below the ring. A smaller open ring at the base has stippled shading on its lower edge, while the main lines are clean and even. The design is in black ink on pale skin against a dark grey background, centred on the inner forearm.

Geometric Blackwork Forearm Circle Ring Arc Dot Concentric circle Outline

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mags had the brass orrery wrapped in a tea towel on the galley table when the barge bumped the lock gate at Hythe, and the smallest of its balls rolled off and into the bilge water. She fished it out with a boathook, cursing softly so the lock-keeper's wife would not hear, and dried it on her jumper. Her father had made the thing from a clock movement and three bicycle bearings, and it had never once kept true time, which was the point of it, he used to say. Time on the river was a matter of tide and rain, not gears.

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The barge was called Nettle and she had been her father's for thirty-one years. Now the papers said Mags, and the papers sat in a brown envelope under the bunk cushion, beside the almanac he had annotated in pencil. Each night he had written where the moon sat over the towpath, which dot was Saturn, which was only a scratch of ink. The ring at the bottom of the case had a dotted edge, a little stippled shadow where the light fell wrong. She had never asked him why. Some things on a river are only ever understood by the person who makes them.

She set the orrery on the table, turned the crank until the outer ring lined up with the lock's iron ladder, and watched the dots drift into their old places. The barge rocked as the water came up. Somewhere beyond the reeds a heron lifted off, grey as a pencil stroke, and she let the crank go. Let the planets find their own way round. She would keep the almanac, she decided, but she would stop correcting it.