Black and grey fine line dreamcatcher tattoo with trailing feathers on a person's left side ribs, above light denim jeans.

Dreamcatcher and feathers on the ribs

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A dreamcatcher with a large circular web and three smaller hoops hangs from the top of the frame, with feathers trailing down and across the side of the ribs. The linework is fine and precise, with soft grey shading on the feathers and light dot details in the webbing. The black and grey tones sit against bare skin and pale jeans, with the photograph framed from the waist up in a soft, low-contrast monochrome.

Fine line Ribs Dreamcatcher Feather Hoop Web Ribs

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

By the second week of October the dreamcatcher had become a nuisance, the way things do when nobody will admit they belong to anybody. Ada had left it hanging from the bathroom ceiling hook the morning she went, a great round web of cord with three smaller hoops dangling beneath it like moons that had lost their planet, and feathers trailing down the cistern wall in grey and smoke. I wrote to her care of an address in Halifax. The letter came back stamped Not Known, and I stood in the hall with it for longer than I care to say.

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So I took the thing down with the broom handle, meaning to bin it before the lodgers noticed. That night a gale came in off the harbour and rattled every sash in Seaspray House. Mr Ferris in the front room complained of a draught, and I went up to find the bathroom window open and the web swinging on its cord, the feathers lifting and settling like something breathing. It had caught the lamp on the landing, and the light came through the rings and scattered across the ceiling in a hundred small round coins.

I had untangled the cord from the cistern pipe when I found the postcard wedged in the lacing of the smallest hoop. It was a lighthouse at Sambro, bleached nearly white by the sun, and on the back in Ada's hurried capitals: KEEP THE SMALL HOOPS FOR WHOEVER COMES BACK, PEG. DON'T LET THE WIND HAVE THEM.

I hung it back on the hook. In the mornings now the sun comes through the window before the kettle has boiled, and it lays three soft shadows across the bathroom tiles, one for each hoop, and I stand there in my dressing gown and let them lie.