Small solid black hummingbird silhouette tattoo on the forearm near the wrist, with a gold chain bracelet above it.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Hummingbird silhouette on a forearm

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small, solid black silhouette of a hummingbird in flight sits on the forearm near the wrist. The bird has no interior detail, so the shape is defined only by its outline, and the ink is a single dark tone. The skin is photographed against grey paving slabs, with a gold chain bracelet and cross charm visible at the top of the frame.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The bird came in through the scullery window the week the Wheal Agnes men went on short time, and it would not be shooed out with a tea towel. My mother said it was a sign. My father said it was lost, and that a lost thing wanted feeding, so he mashed a spoon of sugar into the lid of a jam jar and set it on the windowsill. By the Thursday it was feeding from his knuckle.

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He cut silhouettes for a living when the mine had no work for him, black card snipped with a bent pair of scissors, profiles of the chapel elders for a shilling apiece. He liked the bird because it had no inside to it. Everything it was, he said, was in its edge. He tried to cut it once and kept getting the wings wrong, so he gave up and simply watched it hang over the yard flags, its shadow pinned to the grey slabs beneath it, quick as a thought and just as hard to hold.

On the last afternoon the whistle went for the day shift and every door on Chapel Row opened at once. The bird lifted off my father's hand and went up over the slate roofs, and its shadow ran ahead of it across the paving, stitching from slab to slab, until the wall of the count house cut it off. I stood in the yard with the jam jar in my hands and waited for it to come back down.

It didn't. But the shadow stayed on the flags after the bird had gone, faint and dark, until the rain came in off the moor and washed it away a little at a time.

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