Black and white photo of a bare foot with a verse from Psalm 23:6 in black script lettering across the top of the foot.

Psalm 23:6 script on the top of a foot

Lettering · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A bare foot rests on grass, showing a block of black script text across the top of the foot that reads a line from Psalm 23:6, ending with the reference. The lettering is a fine, even script with clean, consistent strokes and reads clearly against the skin. The photograph is greyscale, with soft natural light and a blurred background of grass and fabric that keeps the focus on the tattoo.

Lettering Other Bible verse Psalm Scripture Text Foot

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The clockwork has stuck again, so you climb the iron stairs with the oil can knocking against your hip and the fog already pressing grey against the lantern glass. Your father taught you to feel for the weights by touch, the way he taught you to tie a bowline and read the sky over Gullet Sound. Tonight the pawl sits a hair proud of its notch, and the great lens stays dark while the bay below fills with the sound of a boat's bell it cannot see.

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In the cottage below, his chest rattles through the open door. Above it, on the slate he has chalked every New Year since your mother died, his square capitals still read the line he always began with: surely goodness and mercy shall follow me. He never got past the rest. The chalk ran out one winter, and nobody bought more, and the words have stayed there, the last half of the sentence smudged where the rain got in. You don't need the rest of it now. You need the pawl to drop.

It drops. The lamp catches with a sound like a held breath let go, and the beam swings out across the water, turning, turning. A lantern answers from the south, low and yellow, the doctor's gig from Harbour End feeling its way in on your light. You stand at the rail with oil on your fingers until the boat's bow noses into the lee of the rocks.

When the doctor comes up the stairs at dawn, you are sitting on the gallery step with the chalk in your hand. You have written the missing words yourself, in your own untidy hand, under his: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. The letters are crooked from the cold. The doctor reads them twice, says nothing, and takes the chalk from you so you can go down and sit with your father.