Black and grey photo of a small solid airplane silhouette tattoo on a lower leg, above a knitted sock, with an aircraft window behind.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small airplane tattoo on a lower leg

Calf · Black and grey · Photo

A small, solid black airplane silhouette sits on the lower leg, seen in profile with wings and tail clearly defined. The photograph is black and white, with a knitted sock at the bottom left and a window and cabin interior behind the leg. The composition is close and centred on the tattoo, with the shape standing out against the pale skin.

Calf Airplane Aeroplane Silhouette

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mind the wool, it's the good stuff, and don't let Dilys tell you otherwise. She bought the grey from a jumble sale in Hove and swore blind it was cashmere. It isn't. It is warm, though, and at Gatwick at six in the morning nobody asks for a receipt. Owen had been sulking since Sunday dinner, so she cast on forty rows before he'd finished his trifle, and by the time the coach was rattling him down the M23 the pair was done.

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He took them in a carrier bag with a cheese sandwich and a paperback about lighthouses. The seat was 27C, by the wing, and the window had a scratch in the Perspex shaped like a crooked question mark. Somewhere over the Bay of Biscay the cabin lights dropped to blue and he pulled the socks up over his knees, the way Dilys had told him to, and watched the cloud floor turn to silver. He says he thought about nothing much. He says that to everyone.

Lisbon was a job that lasted eleven days, then a second that lasted three months. The socks wore through at the heel and he darned them with thread from a hotel sewing kit. In a parlour off Rua do Norte, with a buzzing needle and a man who called him meu amigo, he had a plane put on his shin. Small, solid, nose pointing up the leg towards home. 'So I'll always know which way is which,' he told Dilys on the phone. She said it was the daftest thing she'd ever heard and asked him to send a photo.

He did. It was the leg on the windowsill, the grey wool bunched at the ankle, the little black plane lifting off over the edge of the seat. She printed it at the chemist and kept it in the biscuit tin with the stamps, where it still is, and where she says she can tell from the angle that he's coming back.