Purple and black hand-lettered Psalm 91:4 design with a feather illustration, lettering style, no body placement shown.

Psalm 91:4 lettering with a feather

Lettering · Colour · Flash

The image shows hand-drawn lettering of Psalm 91:4, 'He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart', set on a white background. A detailed feather is drawn across the middle, with flourished dividers and mixed block and script letterforms. The text is mainly purple with black outlines and accents.

Lettering Feather Scripture Psalm Lettering Wing Shield

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The gale had taken the chimney pot off Number Nine before four in the morning, and by breakfast the whole of Gull Terrace Boarding House smelled of wet slate and scorched toast. Mrs Pilcher on the second floor wanted her bed aired, the commercial traveller wanted a second kipper, and I was on my knees in the scullery with a bucket of soot water when the post came through the letterbox.

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Among the bills was a parcel from the solicitor in Saltcombe. Inside lay my grandmother's sewing tin, a cushion covered in faded lilac ticking, and a card in her looping purple ink. She had copied the old psalm out in full, then gone over the word shield in black, the way she always underlined the things she meant. Nan Ivy had kept gulls' feathers in a biscuit tin for fifty years, gathered from the harbour wall, and she used to say that a feather pillow was the nearest thing a body could get to being held by the Almighty.

That night the wind tore at the sash and the lodgers crowded into the front parlour with their lamps. Mrs Pilcher asked me to read something, anything, so I unfolded the card and read the psalm aloud in my plainest voice. When I reached rampart the commercial traveller nodded as if he knew it, and the room went quiet except for the chimney breathing. Later, unpicking a seam to fluff the cushion, I found a single grey quill tucked into the lining with a pencilled date beside it, the year I was born.

In the morning the sea lay flat as a plate. I hung the cushion on the line by the bins, and the wind lifted a handful of down and carried it over the terrace roofs like a slow, white weather.