Fine line black script tattoo reading miles to go across the top of a foot, photographed close up against a blurred room.

Miles to go script on a foot

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a small black script tattoo reading "miles to go" running diagonally across the upper side of a foot. The linework is thin and even, with the cursive letters joined in a handwritten style. The ink is solid black on pale skin, and the background is softly out of focus, with a dark rug and a blurred screen behind the foot.

Fine line Other Script Phrase Handwriting

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The oil came in on the Tuesday boat only as far as Ardnish, so Mairi Dunn carried it the rest of the way herself, two tins swinging from a yoke across her shoulders. Iain had the lamp to keep and no way of leaving it, and the light had not missed a night since his father's time. A dark tower tells the sailors nothing, her mother used to say, and a keeper who runs out of oil is only a man in a cold house.

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The road ran eleven miles along the cliff, past the drowned chapel and the milestone with no name on it. Old Peigi at the last croft had told her once that the road was always longer going home, and Mairi had not believed it until she was carrying the second tin. By the time the chapel bell sounded behind her she had stopped counting the miles and begun counting the steps, because the steps were the only thing she could hold in her head. Miles to go, she told herself at each one. Miles to go.

The rain came in sideways off the headland at the ninth mile. She sat on the milestone long enough to tighten her boots, and the stitching at her left heel had opened under the leather, so that every step after that left a mark on the path she did not look at. Out on the water a boat's lantern bobbed and went under and came up again, and she thought of the men in it counting nothing at all, trusting only that the light would be there.

She reached the tower as the sky went from grey to black. Iain was at the door with the lamp already trimmed in his hands, and he looked at her feet before he looked at her face. 'You're late,' he said. 'Only by the usual miles,' Mairi answered, and she set down the tins and climbed the stair to watch the beam begin to turn.