Fine line black tattoo of a dove and a woman's face with an olive sprig in her hair, on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Dove and woman's face on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A single continuous black outline shows a dove in flight beside a woman's face in a simplified, frontal style, with a small sprig of leaves in her hair. The linework is thin and even, with no shading, and the ink is black on pale skin. The design fills the centre of the forearm against a dark background, with the limb running diagonally across the frame.

Fine line Forearm Dove Woman Face Bird Leaves Line drawing

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Nell, the dove came back again this morning, the same one with the nick in its tail feather, and it sat on the coal bucket while I drank my tea as if it had paid for the passage. Dad would have shot it, or at least sworn at it, but I haven't the heart. Mrs Abbot on the lock says doves bring news, though she also says the Bratcher boy is a saint, so take her word with salt.

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The boat is more crowded than I like since the Hendersons moved their pots aboard. Still, the river is kind this week. We passed under the bridge at Thrupp with the willows dripping, and somebody on the towpath was singing a hymn I half knew from chapel, the one about the olive and the flood. I stood at the tiller and let the boat drift, thinking of the sprig you sent in the crate, dried and brown, which I pressed into Mother's Bible at the page with the ark.

Yesterday the lock-keeper's girl brought a letter for me, folded small and smelling of coal smoke. It was from the council at Oxford, saying the moorings at Cropredy are to be let only to bargemen who can prove they have paid. I have paid. The receipts are in the tin with the buttons. I will go up on Thursday and make them look at me properly, the way that bird looks, one eye on the land and one eye on the sky.

The dove is still on the coal bucket. I am going to put out a crust for it, and then I will go up and argue with the council armed with a pencil and my receipts. Write back soon and tell me whether Dad's old cap still fits Tom.

Love, Ada