Two hands with small black dotwork tattoos of a circle and a dotted triangle on the side of the fingers.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Dotwork circle and triangle on two fingers

Dotwork · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

Two hands rest together on a pale weathered surface, with a trailing green vine across the top left. Each hand carries a small dotwork tattoo on a finger: a simple open circle joined to a dotted triangle, one pointing up and one pointing down. The ink is black, built from fine stippled dots, and the tattoos sit against natural skin tones with soft focus at the edges.

Dotwork Geometric Hand Circle Triangle Dot Hand Vine

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Old Tamsin Hollow had planted the orchard the year her husband went to sea, and by the time the apples came in heavy that August she and her sister Nell had not spoken for a month. The wall between their cottages had come down in a March gale, and neither would be the first to build it up. So each evening they walked the rows with baskets, Tamsin on the east side and Nell on the west, and the two of them met only at the fence line where the gate used to be.

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The windfalls lay in the long grass in small heaps, and each sister counted hers by pressing a thumb into every fruit that was still sound. Tamsin laid hers out in a triangle at the foot of the Codling tree, point to the sky, and then drew a ring of pips around the top of it with the heel of her boot. Nell, who had never once let her sister have the last word, set her heap point down in the earth on her side of the fence, and ringed it the same way. Neither knew the other had been counting from the far side of the hill.

In the third week of August a frost came early and took the top half of the crop in one night. The sisters found each other at dawn, standing among the blackened windfalls, and neither spoke. Nell carried the good apples to the old press stone with its hole worn through the middle, and Tamsin brought the jug. They crushed the fruit together, one turning the handle while the other fed the pulp, and the juice ran out of the stone and into the jug in a single clear thread.

They never did agree whose cider it was. They drank it sitting on the broken wall, and by the next spring the stones were back in place.