Black and grey tattoo of a leaping hare with smoky shading and swirling forms on the upper arm of a man photographed in a bathroom mirror.

Leaping hare tattoo on upper arm

Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A black and grey tattoo of a hare leaping upward, with its ears swept back and its hind legs extended, sits on the outer upper arm. Soft smoky shading and textured, swirling forms surround the animal and fade out at the edges, while fine linework defines the fur and the eye. The photo is a mirror selfie taken against a plain bathroom background, with the tattoo filling the centre of the frame.

Upper arm Hare Rabbit Smoke Cloud Animal

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nobody had warned the bride's father about the hare, so when it burst out of the bonfire smoke he dropped his pint in the grass and swore at the sky. My fiddle was still under my chin. I kept playing, because a fiddler who stops mid-reel at a Shropshire wedding does not get paid, and because I wanted to see what it would do.

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It went over the trestle tables in one long pull, ears flung back, hind legs stretched out as if it had never once been tired. The smoke trailed behind it, not thinning the way smoke does but curling and folding over itself like wet fleece on a washing line. Aunt Maud crossed herself and said it was the old woman from Hollin Lane, who sent hares to any family that married out of the parish without asking her. Nobody in the marquee believed her, and nobody sat down either.

The bride, Nell, walked to the edge of the hay where the smoke was still spilling. Her groom laughed louder than the joke deserved. The hare came round in a wide arc, slowed at the hedge, and turned its head so one pale eye caught the lanterns. For a moment it looked at Nell the way my mother used to look at me across a crowded room, as if it were counting something and already knew the total.

By morning the bonfire was grey ash and the wedding cake had one slice cut clean out of the middle, though nobody would admit to it. Hare prints ran across the wet grass towards the lane and stopped dead at the gate, which had been bolted all night. Nell still wears the ring. Her husband still laughs too loud. I still play at weddings, and I still keep my bow hand well away from the fire.