Black fine line tattoo of a dreamcatcher with two feathers, the script word Dream and small birds on the inner forearm near the wrist.

Dreamcatcher with feathers and the word Dream on a wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black ink tattoo on the inner forearm shows a dreamcatcher hoop with a woven web, two long feathers hanging below it and a flowing script word reading Dream beside the hoop. Small birds or seeds drift down to the left of the feathers. The work is in black ink with fine lines and soft shading on the feathers, and the photograph is in monochrome tones against a dark, textured background.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Dreamcatcher Feather Script Dream Bird Web Seed

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mrs Hesketh kept a loom in her front room and a jar of goose quills on the sill, and on the wet Tuesday in March that the Pryce girl came to her door white-faced, she took down a willow hoop from the nail above the stove. "Dreams come in at the window," she said, "same as the draught. We'll give them a web to fall into."

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She laced the hoop with linen thread, knotting every crossing so that nothing larger than a thought could slip through. Into the bottom she tied two grey feathers from the wood pigeon that nested in the chapel roof, and let them hang so they would turn with the breath of anyone asleep beneath them. Nell slept that night with the hoop above her bed and dreamed of nothing but cold water, which the weaver said was a good sign, since water is what dreams are made of when they are thin.

Years later the hoop had gone yellow and the thread had gone brittle. Nell, grown and married to the chemist, came back to find the weaver old in the same chair by the same loom. "Did you catch them all?" she asked. Mrs Hesketh shook her head and pointed at the web. Caught in the knots were a few dry seeds, a bird's pale feather and a ribbon from a fair long gone. "The ones that stay are the ones that wanted to," she said. "The rest I let go each morning through the gap in the sill."

When Nell left, the window was open to the dawn and a flock of sparrows was lifting from the hedge, scattering seed across the lane like a fistful of salt. She stood a while watching them go, and understood that the trick of the web had never been in what it held.