Black and yellow tattoo of a rising sun with rays above dark mountains and rain lines, on the outer upper arm, in a bold graphic blackwork style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Rising sun over mountains and rain on an upper arm

Blackwork · Upper arm · Mixed · Photo

A large tattoo shows a low sun with yellow rays rising behind solid black mountain silhouettes. Diagonal rain lines fall across the lower half, with scattered outlined circles beneath them. Bold black fills and fine black linework sit on pale skin, with the yellow used only for the rays.

Blackwork Upper arm Sun Mountain Rain Ray Circle

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit in close, the lot of you, and mind the wet on the bench. The rain came down on Hartley Common for nine days running that summer of 1926, and Dixon's Travelling Fair stood in it like a drowned hen. The canvas sagged. The horses wouldn't leave their straw. Only old Mab Ferris kept the Wheel of Fortune turning, and she did it with her sleeves rolled up past the elbow and a tin basin at her feet.

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The basin was for the pennies. Every soul who came under the dripping awning tossed a coin in for luck, and Mab would fish them out at night and count them on the caravan step. On the ninth morning there were more coins in that basin than there were folk left on the common, and the rain was still coming down in diagonal grey ropes across the field, slanting like it had somewhere to be. Mab said she'd give the lot to whoever could show her the sun.

Young Tobias Gale, who ran the lamp-boy's cart and had no sense, took her at her word. He climbed the ridge before first light with the basin's coins knotted in his shirt, and he waited on the wet rock above the chapel wall. At six the cloud tore over the moor like wet paper, and the sun came up low and yellow, throwing its rays across the black hills like a fan of gold wire.

Tobias came down the ridge with his shirt hanging empty. Mab shouted at him for the wasted pennies until he pointed. He had flung the whole lot up at the light, and the coins came down through the last of the rain, each one catching the sun, spinning, and sinking into the puddles across the common, so every puddle held a small sun and a ring of bright ripples. Mab never did get her pennies back. She said it was the best bad bargain she ever made, and she'd make it again. Count your coppers, friends, and mind the step.