Traditional style colour tattoo of an owl perched on a branch with pink flowers, on the upper thigh of a person kneeling in a white skirt.

Owl on a branch on a thigh

Traditional · Thigh · Colour · Photo

A person kneels on a wooden floor, holding up a white skirt to show a large tattoo on the outer thigh. The tattoo shows a dark-feathered owl with green eyes and a red-brown brow, perched on a branch with pink blossoms, with a small star and a faint red motif behind it. Bold black outlines and solid colour fills give it a classic traditional look, and the owl sits centrally within the frame.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The tawny owl had been sitting on the cherry branch outside the day room since half past two. By four, Mr Dunmore in bay three had decided it was his solicitor, come to read out the will, and he wanted to know why nobody had brought him a pen. I told him it was an owl. He told me owls don't stare like that unless they have paperwork.

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Night shift on Ward Seven is a long conversation with people who cannot sleep. You learn its noises: the drip alarm that sounds like a bird caught in a bin, the left-hand wheel on the medicine trolley, the urn in the kitchen that takes exactly as long to boil as a short prayer. You learn that the hours are not the hard part. The hard part is the small things people hand you at three in the morning, a photograph, a dental plate in a yoghurt pot, a question about whether the sea is still there.

Mr Dunmore asked me for the owl's name. I said I didn't know it. He said that was fine, he'd call it Gerald until it told him otherwise. Then he went quiet, and the light in the courtyard turned the colour of weak tea, and I thought he had drifted off. He hadn't. When I checked his pulse he opened his eyes, nodded at the window, and said, "Off to work, then."

The branch was empty when I looked. Only a few cherry blossoms were still turning slowly down past the glass, pale and pink, and I watched them until the handover bell rang.

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