Black and grey fine line tattoo of a mountain outline above the words Psalm 121 on the inner wrist.

Mountain outline and Psalm 121 on a wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black and white photograph of a healed tattoo on the inner wrist, showing a thin continuous mountain ridge line above the words Psalm 121 in a clean sans-serif typeface. The linework is fine and even, with solid black ink and no visible shading. The tattoo sits centred on the wrist against a dark textured background, with the skin lit evenly.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Mountain Bible verse Text

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The cloud had sat on Blea Rigg since Thursday, and by Saturday the mountain rescue men had stopped pretending they would go up before light. Old Harold Pell pushed a mug of stewed tea across the trestle table in the hut and nodded at the window, where nothing showed but grey. "Ridge will be there when it lifts," he said. "Same as it was yesterday."

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Margaret had the radio on her knee and a list of names folded in her coat pocket: three walkers from a Leeds school trip who had gone up for the view and come down into the wrong gully. She did not sit still. She counted the hours on the clock above the stove and tried not to count the others, the ones found in time and the ones that had not been. Somewhere out in the dark a dog barked twice and then stopped.

At four the wind dropped all at once, as if someone had shut a door. Through the glass the ridge came up out of the cloud, black and clean as a line drawn with a steady hand, and below it, faint, a torch was moving in a slow zigzag across the scree. Margaret was on her feet before she knew it, the radio already crackling with a voice she recognised.

Harold didn't look up from his tea. "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills," he said, half to himself, the way his mother must have said it. "Never could get past the first bit. Still the best bit."