Two people seen from behind with matching black script tattoos on their shoulder blades, an infinity symbol with a feather or an anchor and the words about wings and anchors.

Matching infinity feather and anchor quote tattoos on

Lettering · Back · Black and grey · Photo

A collage of two people seen from behind, each with a matching black script quote tattooed on the upper back near the shoulder blade. The left design shows a feather resting on an infinity symbol above the words 'I'll be the wings that keep your head in the clouds', and the right design shows an anchor inside an infinity symbol above 'I'll be the anchor that keeps your feet on the ground'. The linework is crisp and even with solid black ink, and the close-up panels on the right show the designs clearly against lightly freckled skin.

Lettering Back Shoulder Infinity Feather Anchor Script Quote Matching tattoo Couple

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You tie the bow line to the bollard at Hawford Lock with the knot your father taught you, the one that slips if you pull the wrong end, and you don't look up at the cloud over the towpath because you already know it's going to rain. Mags is ashore behind the chandlery, arguing with a man about the price of diesel, and you can hear her laugh carrying across the water before you can see her.

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The boat has been in your family for thirty-one years. Nobody bothers with the name on the cabin side any more; the letters have faded to the colour of weak tea. What matters is the back end. Whoever steers has to keep the nose on the middle of the channel while the wind shoves from the left, and whoever sits in the cabin keeps the stove going and the plates from walking off the shelves. You have always been the one at the tiller. She has always been the one who finds the pub with the good chips.

The winter the canal froze solid above Tardebigge, she walked out onto the ice in borrowed wellies with a thermos and a grin and said the boat wasn't going anywhere until spring, so she might as well come aboard. You said the ice would crack. She said then they'd find out what the bottom looked like, and poured you a cup of something that was mostly brandy.

Now she comes back along the towpath with a carrier bag swinging from one hand and a newspaper folded under her arm. She holds out the windlass without a word, the way she always does, and you take it. Behind you the lock gates groan open. Under the cabin roof, where the paint is flaking, someone once scratched a feather and a hook into the tin. You still don't know which of you did it, and you have stopped minding.