Small fine line tattoo of a robin with a red breast, perched on skin on the upper back.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Robin with red breast on upper back

Fine line · Back · Mixed · Photo

A small tattoo of a perched robin, shown in profile facing left with a long tail and thin legs. The fine, dark linework defines the wings and tail, with soft grey shading on the body and a single splash of red ink across the breast. The bird sits centrally on a plain expanse of skin, with a black bra strap visible at the right edge of the frame.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Nell,

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The robin came back on Tuesday, the morning after the fog lifted, and perched on the iron rail of the gallery as if he'd been away a fortnight and expected the paintwork to have been touched up in his honour. I'm nearly sure he's the same bird as last winter. He has the same way of tipping his head at the lamp, as though he suspects it of owing him something.

Mr Pascoe says robins only come out to a light when the sea's kicking up, that they sit where the warm air rises off the glass. I told him that was a fine thing to say about a bird, and he said he'd been keeping this lamp since before I was born and didn't need a bird to tell him about weather. We have not spoken properly since, but we trim the wicks together at dusk and that is conversation enough.

The worst of the gale came on Thursday. Three days of it with the boat unable to put in, so no post, no coal, and the tins down to beans. On the Friday the wind dropped all at once and the sea lay flat and grey for an hour, and there he was on the rail, shaking the water from his feathers. I stood on the walkway and counted my breaths until he flew.

Your letter came off the Saturday boat, and I read it three times on the stairs. Come out at Whitsun if you can. Bring the good tea and no books, I've read them all twice. The robin will be here, I expect, looking at you as if he's been waiting.

Love, Dad

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