Photograph of a small realistic moon tattoo in brown and black tones on the inner forearm, with the numerals 9.15 in black script beneath it.

Realistic moon with 9.15 on forearm

Realism · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A small circular moon sits on the inner forearm, with dark craters, pale highlights and a bright radiating area across its right side. Beneath it, the numerals 9.15 are written in thin black script. The moon is shaded in browns, tans and black with soft tonal blending, and it is centred on a plain light skin background.

Realism Forearm Moon Celestial Numeral

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mrs Abigail Thorne had kept the walled garden at Lowmoor for forty years, and she knew the moon by its habits. It rose over the elm at the bottom wall, pale as skimmed milk, and slid behind the glasshouse when the bells of Cold Ashby struck nine. Her grandson Eli, who was seven and afraid of nothing except the dark between the cabbages, asked her what time the moon would stop in the sky. She told him it stopped at a quarter past nine on the night the dandelions went to clock.

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The clocks stood in the long grass under the pear trees, a whole field of white heads. Each puff of seed was a little moon of its own, she said, and if you blew at the right minute, your wish would sail over the wall and all the way to the far side of the hill. Eli spent a week trying. He blew at eight, at half past eight, at ten past nine, and each time the seeds scattered wrong and settled in the gravel of the path.

On the last night of August the moon came up orange and heavy over the elm, and Eli came running with a dandelion head cupped in both hands like a bird he had rescued. Mrs Thorne knelt in the damp grass beside him. "Quarter past," she said, and he blew. The seeds lifted silver against the dark, caught the light and held it, and for a moment the whole garden looked as though the moon had come down to see what the fuss was about.

They watched the last of the seeds drift over the wall. Mrs Thorne took a pencil from her apron and wrote the time on the potting shed door, under the hook where the secateurs hung, so that next year they would know where to start.