Pencil sketch of a dreamcatcher design with a tree of life in the hoop, a crescent moon, a cratered moon, stars, feathers and a peace sign, with no body placement shown.

Dreamcatcher with tree of life design

Fine line · Black and grey · Flash

A pencil drawing of a dreamcatcher with a tree of life in the hoop, its branches drawn in fine lines over a woven, twisted rim. Hanging below are a crescent moon, a cratered moon, small stars, beaded strings, several feathers and a circle containing a peace sign, all in light graphite shading. The design is centred on a plain cream background with no colour.

Fine line Dreamcatcher Tree of life Moon Crescent moon Star Feather Bead Peace sign Branches

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The snow had sealed the lane by the time you reached the Hollin Arms, and Maud Tennant was already fixing the dreamcatcher back to the bedroom window with a length of waxed thread when you came up the stairs with your bag. "It came loose in the gale," she said, not looking round. "Hoop's sound. The web's a mess." She held it up against the grey light, and the thin lines of the tree spread across the glass like frost that had decided to grow upward.

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The hoop was willow, bound with twisted rawhide, and someone long ago had wound its branches so finely that you could follow each twig down to the root in the middle, where the trunk split and split again. Below it hung the two moons, the crescent cut as thin as a paring knife and the other pocked and lumpy like a potato left too long in the cellar. Three small stars jangled beside them. Maud tied the last bead in place and tapped the circle at the bottom, the one with the peace sign scratched across it. "My mother's idea," she said. "Keeps the arguments out of the house. Mostly it keeps the draughts out."

That night the wind dropped, and you lay awake listening to nothing at all, the kind of silence that makes a body dream loudly. You dreamt of a road running out into white fields, with a tree standing at the end of it, its branches bare and tangled as wire. When you woke the window was grey and the feathers hung perfectly still, and on the sill lay a single snowflake, unmelted, its six points as neat as a star.

Downstairs two men were digging out the lane with shovels, and a dog would not stop barking at them. Maud had the kettle on. "Slept well?" she asked, and you said you had, and she nodded as though she had expected nothing else, as though the web had done its work and sent the rest of the night somewhere else.