Fine line black ink script reading Jeremiah 29:11 above a wing-like flourish, tattooed on the wrist.

Jeremiah 29:11 script with wing flourish on wrist

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows the handwritten words jeremiah 29:11 in a slanted script, with a thin wing-like flourish with a small curled centre beneath it. It is rendered in black or dark grey ink with fine, even linework and no shading. The photo is taken straight on at the wrist, with the hand raised and a striped bracelet and black elastic band visible at the bottom of the frame.

Lettering Fine line Forearm Script Wing Flourish

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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

You are counting windfalls under the Bramley trees when the postman decides against the gravel path and leaves the envelope wedged in the gatepost instead, because the Ashworths' dog has been at him again. The hand on the front slants so hard to the left that the letters seem to be leaning into a wind nobody else can feel. You know it before you open it. Your father wrote your name that way on the back of every birthday card until the year he stopped sending them.

Keep reading

Inside there is one sheet, folded in three, and on it only a verse, the one his mother kept framed above the range, and beneath it a small curl of ink like a gull lifting off a wave. No apology. No address. You read the line twice standing in the wet grass, wasps working the split plums around your boots, the ladder leaning where you left it against the eastern tree.

The verse promises plans to prosper you and not to harm you, and you have never believed a line of scripture in your life. But that little curl at the bottom is the same one he drew on the corner of every shopping list you ever found in his coat. It is the only thing he ever made that looked like it might fly.

You take the stub of pencil from your apron pocket and write on the back of the envelope, the first thing you have written to him in eleven years. It takes three words. You tuck the paper into your sleeve, pick up the basket, and walk down to the gate to wait for the lane to show him coming.