Fine line black script lettering reading She is clothed in strength and dignity, And she laughs without fear of the future, across the side of a foot.

Script quote on the side of a foot

Lettering · Other · Black and grey · Photo

Two lines of cursive script run diagonally across pale skin, reading She is clothed in strength and dignity and And she laughs without fear of the future. The linework is thin and even, with the letters rendered in a single dark ink. The photograph is taken at a close angle against a dark background, so the text is the clear focal point, and the right end of the second line fades slightly toward the edge of the frame.

Lettering Fine line Other Quote Script Text Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Winter at Hollin Farm meant the lane froze before the milk lorry came, and Aunt Maud spent the dark mornings at the scullery sink breaking the ice on the water trough with the handle of a wooden spoon. She wrote her letters in January, when the hens stopped laying and there was time for a steady hand. I was twelve the winter she sent me the card with the words copied out in her blue-black ink.

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The card had come tucked around a seed packet and a jam jar of sloes. On the back, in the looping script she'd learned from a convent teacher in Kendal, she had written two lines from Proverbs: she is clothed in strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future. Underneath she had added, 'Your grandfather thought this was a lot to ask of a woman who couldn't keep the cat off the bread. He was wrong about the cat.'

I didn't understand it then. I thought it was a joke about Gran's fortitude, or a thing for the chapel wall. Then in February the bank wrote about the overdraft, the ewes started lambing in sleet, and I found myself standing in the byre at four in the morning with a torch in my teeth, laughing at nothing because the alternative was crying. Aunt Maud's card was in my coat pocket, soft from handling.

When the lambs were up and the lane had thawed, I turned the card over again. Beneath her sentence someone had pencilled a small tick, and under the tick, in a hand I didn't know, were the words 'Still here.' I never found out who. I kept the card in the drawer with the baler twine and the spare keys, and every January I read it again before the lane freezes.