Colour tattoo of an orange owl on a branch with cherries, music notes and a dark cloud, on the upper arm in a neo-traditional cartoon style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Owl with clouds and cherries on upper arm

Neo-trad · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A large cartoon owl with yellow-ringed eyes and a pink-edged face sits centrally on a branch with green leaves and two dark cherries below. Surrounding it are a dark cloud with a face, two pink ghost-like shapes, pink lightning bolts, music notes, stars and dark masks, set against a soft blue wash. Bold black outlines frame flat orange, yellow, pink and green fills on the upper arm.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Marjorie,

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The owl has been awake every night since you left, which is more than I can say for myself. It sits on the top bough of the Bramley and sings the same three notes at the moon, and the moon, being a coward, goes behind the storm cloud that Mr Pargeter's boys keep trying to shoo off the church roof. The cloud sulks. It always sulks. Last night it rained on the cherries out of pure spite, and the two big ones over the gate have split their skins and gone the colour of old wine.

You'll laugh, but the pink ghosts came back too, the pair who used to haunt the washing line. They hover by the shed looking hopeful, as if they expect us to tidy the place up for them. I've left out a saucer of milk and a jar of the peppermints you hid in the bread bin. The lightning has been polite this year, two quick flashes over the ridge and then nothing, like a man clearing his throat before a speech.

The owl, I'm sorry to report, has taken to lecturing the masks. There are two of them, grinning off the fence posts, and they keep telling the owl that the orchard is haunted and the owl keeps telling them it is merely untidy. I think it's winning. Yesterday I heard a fresh note come out of one mask, a wobbly little tune, and the owl hooted back in what I can only call approval.

Come home before the apples drop. I'll keep the cherries for you. Half of them, anyway. The owl has already claimed the rest.

Your loving friend, Edie

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