Small black fine line tattoo of a bee on the inner wrist of a raised hand, against a patterned background.

Small bee tattoo on inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small tattoo of a honeybee in side view sits on the inner wrist. The bee has finely drawn outlines, segmented body stripes, and detailed wings, all in black ink with light grey shading. The hand is raised against a dark and red patterned fabric, and the tattoo is placed centrally on the wrist.

Fine line Forearm Bee Insect

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Now, you'll want to know how it's done. Before the sun clears the church roof you go out to the hives, you knock three times on the wood, and you tell them what's happened, because bees don't stay where nobody tells them things. Mrs Ashby did it for her husband's hives the morning after the funeral, in her good black coat, with the rain still dripping off the lane hedges. Nobody else had thought to, so I went with her, a boy of nine carrying the jug of tea.

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She told them his name. She told them his boots were still by the back door and the orchard gate needed hanging. Then she lifted the lid of the nearest skep, and a single bee came up out of the dark, slow, as though it had been waiting for the right words. It walked the back of her hand, over the knuckles, down to the wrist where the blue vein shows, and it never stung her. I was certain it would. I'd kept my hands behind my back the whole time.

Old Harold from the mill said that was nonsense, that bees weren't clever enough to grieve. But that autumn the hives in the orchard swarmed twice, and nobody could say where the second swarm went. My grandmother said they'd gone to find him, which is the sort of thing grandmothers say, and I believed her for years.

The last thing Mrs Ashby did was pour the tea on the bench beside the hives, for the bees, and walk home with an empty jug. I still have that jug. Some mornings, when I knock on the wood, it hums back.