Black and grey ornate cross tattoo centred between the shoulder blades of a woman with her hair in a bun, photographed from behind.

Ornate cross on upper back

Back · Black and grey · Photo

A black and grey photograph of a woman seen from behind, her blonde hair tied in a loose bun and a white tank top on her shoulders. A detailed cross with scrolled, floral-looking terminals sits centrally on her upper back, rendered in dark ink with fine outlines and soft shading. The black background and monochrome treatment keep the focus on the tattoo.

Back Cross Filigree Woman Hair bun

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Nell, the windfalls are coming down faster than Mrs Haddon can gather them, and I have finished the cross at last. It took me nine evenings at the bench under the old Bramley, where the light holds on longest, bending fine silver wire into scrolls that open at the ends like hawthorn blossom. The vicar wanted something plain for the lychgate at St Aldhelm's, but I told him plain crosses get stolen and fancy ones get looked at, and he let me have my way.

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The silver came from the orchard families, a teaspoon here, a broken brooch there, and I melted it down in the old forge behind the cider press. Every piece I soldered I thought of you telling me I'd never finish anything I started. Well, I have. Mrs Haddon came up the lane on Thursday with a basket of Discovery apples and stood at the gate for a long time with her thumb on the lowest curl. She said her mother wore a collar just like it, lost in the flood of '47, and asked whether I could make the last curl one turn wider so it would catch the sun when she walked past.

I did it that same night. She cried a little when she saw it, and then she made me take the basket home with me, though I told her I'd only been paid in wire and promises. I have kept the offcut, a curl no longer than my little finger, and it sits in my waistcoat pocket now, still faintly warm from the bench. Come down before the frost and we'll hang the cross together. Bring your boots. The lane is worse than you remember.

Your loving brother, Tom