Fine line black tattoo of a small acorn with a simple face on the ankle.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small acorn with a face on an ankle

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A small acorn is tattooed in black ink on the skin of an ankle or foot. The cap has stippled texture and the nut has a simple face with closed eyes and a small mouth. The thin, even linework sits in the centre of the frame against a soft, pale background.

Fine line Ankle Acorn Face Cartoon

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The porter at Thorncombe Halt would not let anyone sweep the corner under the third bench, because that was where the acorn slept. Nobody could say who had left it there. Mrs Ashdown, who kept the tea urn in the waiting room, said it had come over in a sack of seed corn the spring the line was cut through Hollin Wood, and had been dozing ever since, waiting for the trains to stop shaking the ground.

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Edwin Carrow, the stationmaster, thought this was nonsense and said so every morning while he wound the clock. Still, he checked on the thing before he unlocked the ticket office. It had a face now, though he would have sworn it had none in the spring: closed eyes, a small pursed mouth, and a cap of stippled brown that looked as if someone had pressed it with a thumbnail. When the company sent men with saws to clear the wood for a siding, Edwin found them standing at the edge of the trees with their hands in their pockets.

The foreman said the oak had to come down, and Edwin said it did not, and for once nobody argued with the stationmaster. That night he carried the acorn in his waistcoat pocket up the embankment, past the water tower, and pressed it into the wet clay with his thumb. He told it the trains would go round it for a while yet. He did not tell it how long a while was.

Thirty years on, a driver who had never met Edwin brought the 7:14 to a stop at Thorncombe one frosty morning, though the timetable gave no reason for it. A girl asleep on the third bench did not stir. Above the water tower the oak had put out its first leaves, and the whole wood was still for a moment, as if listening.