Black and grey fine line tattoo of a row of seven moon phases arcing across the left ribs, photographed in black and white.

Moon phases along the ribs

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

The photograph shows a side view of a torso with a curved row of seven circular moon phases, running from a crescent on the left to a nearly full moon on the right. The circles use crisp black outlines with shading that varies from solid black to pale grey across the phases. The tattoo sits against plain skin, with a dark garment at the top and denim at the bottom framing the image.

Fine line Ribs Moon Moon phase Crescent Circle

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Ten days into autumn the mule train stops at the foot of Sorrel Col, and Tomas tells the new hands what he always tells them: the pass belongs to the moon before it belongs to the snow. You count the nights on your fingers while the others unload. A paring of light tonight, a half-moon by the fourth night, then the big one swelling over the ridge like something rising through water.

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The first night you cross with Tomas and the lead mule, and the sky is so clear the scree glints like spilled salt. He walks with a lantern hooded in oilcloth, and you keep your eyes on the cairns. Each night the light grows a sliver. By the fifth night the edge of the world is pale silver and the stones stand out like teeth. You learn the path by its brightness rather than its colour, and you stop needing the lantern at all.

On the sixth night a rockfall shuts the eastern gully and Tomas wants to wait. You look up at the lopsided moon, nearly whole, and tell him the shape is good enough. He grumbles, but he follows. The last mule tops the crest with the moon at its back, and the snow beyond the saddle is lit so white you can read the names of the valley towns on the signposts.

Below, the lamps of the lower village come on one by one. Tomas hands you the lantern without a word. You hold it up toward the sky, which is almost absurd, since the moon needs no help from anyone. You keep it lit anyway until the last bell of the train fades down the far side.