Single-line black drawing of an infinity symbol with the words on high written in fine cursive script inside the loop, shown as a tattoo design with no body placement visible.

Infinity symbol with On high script

Fine line · Black and grey · Flash

A continuous thin black line forms an infinity symbol, with the word on high written in joined cursive script through the centre crossing. The linework is even and monoline against a pale background, with no shading. The composition is centred and horizontal, with the lettering sitting in the right-hand loop.

Fine line Lettering Infinity Infinity symbol Script Cursive Word

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The string had already gone through three pairs of hands by the time you took it from your grandfather, and the wind on Skerrow never let up long enough to fly anything properly. Mrs Tavish at the shop said kites were for mainland children with proper beaches. You went down to the north shingle anyway, paying out line one arm's length at a time, until the paper cross-spar caught and lifted and the whole thing began to tug like a dog wanting the road.

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The tail was your idea, knotted every hand's width so it looked like a string of beads. Your sister called it a cat's cradle with ambition. You didn't argue. You kept walking backwards up the sand, watching the kite climb past the cliff and the gull that thought it was a rival, until the shape it drew against the grey sky seemed to fold over itself and never quite finish turning.

Dad had a word for that, from his years on the boats: a long slow weather. Nothing ends, he said, it only goes round, and the sea keeps the sums. You didn't understand him then. You understood only that the line was humming, the lowest knot was still in your fist, and somewhere above the clouds the kite had stopped being a thing you owned and become a thing you were holding on to.

When the reel ran out at the end of the afternoon, you wound the string back in by hand, the tail shivering across your palms. High up, the kite was still a dot, still pulling. You called to it the way you used to call the dog home, and the wind carried your voice north, where nobody could hear it but you.