Colour neo-traditional tattoo of a rooster head with a yellow sun and wheat stalks on the back of a hand.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Rooster head with sun on the back of a hand

Neo-trad · Hand · Colour · Photo

A bold rooster head with a yellow eye, red comb and green and orange feathers fills most of the back of the hand, with a yellow sun behind it and wheat stalks on the left. The design uses thick black outlines with smooth, saturated colour fills in red, orange, yellow, green and teal. The tattoo is centred on the hand and fills the frame, with the fingers and a darker background at the edges.

Neo-trad Hand Rooster Sun Wheat Feather Bird

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The last tent of the Morrow Brothers Circus stood on Penhallow Moor for three wet weeks that October, and the only act anyone still paid to see was the rooster. His name was Ambrose. He had a comb the colour of a struck match and an eye that gave back lamplight even at noon, and he strutted the sawdust ring as if the whole county owed him rent.

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Old Mrs Tressider, who sold toffee apples at the gate, said he had hatched from an ember that the strongman carried out of a burning barn. Each morning Ambrose climbed onto the centre pole and crowed, and each morning the sun rose over the hedge a little earlier and a little brighter, as though it were answering him. Nobody believed her until the week the fog came down thick and grey and the sun did not come at all. The performers stood about in their coats with their breath hanging in front of them, and the children stopped asking for a second show.

Silas Morrow, who had never once got up before the horses, sold the bird to a man from Truro for the price of a new wagon wheel. The man put him in a crate with a sack over the top. That night Nell, who fed the ponies and had never been paid much, lifted the sack and told him she was sorry. Ambrose only tilted his head and said nothing, which she took for a yes.

Nell carried the crate out to the hedge and opened the lid, and before the first light the bird was on the gatepost, crowing across the wet field. The fog lifted like a sheet off a line. Silas never learned why the wagons rolled out in spring with no rooster on the lead, and the wheat in that field grew taller than the hedge, and every morning a single red bird stood on the gate and called the sun up for anyone awake enough to listen.