Black linework drawing of a dreamcatcher with a crescent moon, a mandala flower and three feathers, shaded with dotwork, shown as a tattoo design on paper.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Dreamcatcher with crescent moon design

Dotwork · Black and grey · Flash

The drawing shows a dreamcatcher made of a crescent moon enclosing a radial mandala flower, with three feathers and beaded strings hanging from its base. The outlines are fine black lines, and the moon and parts of the circle are filled with stippled dots for shading. The design is drawn in black ink on a plain white sheet, with coloured pencils resting at the left and top edges.

Dotwork Fine line Geometric Dreamcatcher Crescent moon Mandala Feather Dot Bead

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Ruth, The road over Hartside has been shut since Tuesday, and the innkeeper's lamp has burned so long that I have stopped noticing the smell of its oil. We have eleven guests, three of them sleeping in the taproom because the attic leaks, and a drover named Ivo who has paid for his room in carved spoons. Mrs Pryce says we will be fed on potatoes until the thaw.

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The man who left the dreamcatcher is called Mr Abernethy. He came in out of the blizzard with frost in his eyebrows and a canvas bag he would not let anyone lift. Before going up to bed he unwrapped it on the bar: a ring of willow the size of a dinner plate, a crescent moon bent round a flower of fine black thread, and three grey feathers hanging on beaded cord. He said it belonged on the sill of the room at the top of the stairs, where the cold comes through the sash. He did not ask me to hang it. He simply left it there and was gone before breakfast, down the valley on foot, though the road was white to the hedges.

I have kept it up there since. Every night I lie awake counting the stippled dots along the moon's edge, and every night I reach a different number. The feathers stir whenever the draught finds them. Last night I could have sworn someone turned over in that room, though it has been empty since October.

This morning the sky cleared to a hard blue and the plough came through. I took up a cup of tea and found the feathers all turned one way, towards the south road, as if something had been pointed home. Abernethy's bag was still under the bed, and inside it was a folded note in a careful hand: Keep the moon facing the door, and the dots will do the rest. I am posting this with the first coach. Love, Marta