Black and grey Traditional style tattoo of a mountain cabin, pine trees and a sunburst with clouds on the upper arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Mountain cabin landscape with sunburst

Traditional · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A black and grey tattoo shows a small cabin with a pitched roof beside three pine trees, set against layered mountains, a low sun and radiating rays, all enclosed in a circular frame. The linework is bold and the shading uses dense hatching and stippling on the hills, mountains and clouds. The composition is centred on the arm with the cabin placed low on the right of the circle and the sun rising behind the peaks.

Traditional Dotwork Upper arm Mountain Cabin House Pine tree Sun Sunburst Cloud Landscape Hill

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The cage came up out of the dark at ten past six, and Tom Hallam was the last man off it because his hands had not yet agreed to let go of the rail. Outside, the sky over Carrow Bank had turned the colour of weak tea. Behind the spoil heaps a low sun was pushing up between the peaks, its rays fanning out like the spokes of a cartwheel, and the coke smoke from the ovens lay flat along the valley floor as if someone had spilt it.

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He walked the long way, up the track past the chapel, to the cabin his father had built on the scarp before the company bought the lease. Nobody had slept in it since the winter the roof came in. Tom had been patching it on Sundays for two years, carrying slates up in a flour sack across his back, and his mother had said he was daft to waste a day off on a house with no door worth the name. The door was still there now, freshly planed, and under it lay a folded paper from the colliery office with his name typed at the top and a figure beneath that he had read three times in the cage.

He did not go in straight away. He sat on the step with the paper on his knee and watched the light climb the hillside until it reached the three pines at the bottom of the garden and turned their trunks gold. Then he went inside, struck a match, and fed the little stove with the last of the slack. When he came back out the smoke from the chimney was rising straight up into the cold air, a grey column thickening into a cloud at its top, and he folded the paper into his pocket without tearing it.