Black and grey realism tattoo of a kookaburra perched on a branch, placed on the side of the ribs.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Kookaburra perched on a branch on the ribs

Realism · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A kookaburra is shown perched on a branch, facing left, with its head, beak and barred tail feathers clearly detailed. The bird is rendered in fine linework and layered shading, giving the plumage texture and depth. The design is in black and grey ink, with the branch and soft shadow beneath the bird filling the lower part of the composition.

Realism Ribs Bird Branch Feather

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The rain has been coming sideways across the Saturday market since before seven, and you have given up on the awning. Your trestle table sags under a tin of mismatched buttons, three pairs of galoshes and a crate of odds that nobody has touched all morning. At the bottom of the crate, wrapped in a tea towel, is the carved bird you bought at a house clearance in Armidale for the price of a sandwich.

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Old Mr Achterberg from the next stall leans across the gap between your tables, water dripping off the peak of his cap. He says the bird laughs when it rains. You tell him he has been out in the weather too long. Then the crate rattles, and from somewhere under the tea towel comes a cackle that climbs the scale and breaks off, exactly the way the birds used to do on your grandmother's verandah at first light, perched on the rail while the washing steamed in the cold.

You never found out whether the rail was still there after the house sold. You unwrap the bird now and turn it over in your hands. Its wooden head is cocked to one side, as if it has heard something on the road that you have not. Mr Achterberg takes out his wallet and tells you it is worth more than you are asking, which is true, so you let him pay you four dollars and take nothing back.

That evening you set it on the high shelf of the van, facing the windscreen, and drive home with the wipers going. Each time they swing back, you wait for the laugh, and each time it comes, bright and unbothered, through the rain.