Colour realism tattoo of a man in a blue jumper and white collar in front of an autumn landscape, with the words YOU'RE MY BOY, BLUE below, on an upper arm.

Realistic portrait with quote on upper arm

Realism · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

The tattoo shows a man's head and shoulders in a blue knitted jumper with a white collar, set in front of a painted autumn landscape of trees and yellow foliage. The portrait uses smooth shading and fine detail in the face and hair, with blue, green, yellow and brown tones. Blue block lettering reading YOU'RE MY BOY, BLUE runs along the lower edge of the design.

Realism Upper arm Portrait Man Face Autumn Tree Landscape Lettering Quote Foliage

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mae had been dragging hay bales across the yard since six, and by eleven the frost still hadn't lifted from the gate latch. Her grandfather's knitted jumper hung on the back of the Aga door, the wool gone thin at the elbows, the blue faded to the colour of a robin's egg left out in the rain. She pulled it on anyway. It smelt of diesel and of him.

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Blue was waiting by the trough, his coat furred white at the ears, watching her with the patience of a dog who had outlasted two farmhands and a bad winter. When she whistled he came round the shed at a flat run, churning the snow, and stopped square in front of her as if someone had told him to.

"Right, you," she said. "Sheep on the top field, and nobody gets a biscuit till they're in."

They walked up under the bare oaks, the ones her grandfather had called the autumn trees because they were always the last in the valley to turn gold. Every October he'd said there was nothing finer than a hillside on fire, and every October she'd rolled her eyes. Now the branches were black lace against a white sky, and the ewes lay scattered across the slope like dropped wool.

Blue did the work without being asked. He swept round the flock low and wide, and by the time the light went, all twenty-six were moving down the lane in a grey, bunched river. Mae stood at the gate counting heads with her breath smoking, and when the last one passed she found she was smiling into the wind, a bit foolishly, the way he used to.