Small solid black silhouette of a bird in flight tattooed on the side of a woman's neck above the collarbone, with a black leather jacket collar visible.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small bird tattoo near the collarbone

Neck · Black and grey · Photo

A tiny solid black silhouette of a bird in flight sits on the side of the neck above the collarbone. The shape is simple and filled with black ink, with no visible shading or fine detail. The pale skin and dark leather jacket collar create strong contrast, and the framing is a close crop showing only the lower face, neck and upper chest.

Neck Bird Silhouette Flight

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The ladder was still warm from the afternoon when Uncle Walter told me to come down and start counting windfalls instead. We had forty trees to get through before the rain, and he had already lost two hours to an argument with a wasp. I laid the bruised Discovery apples in rows along the grass, one for every basket I had promised him, and tried to keep my count straight while the swifts screamed overhead.

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Walter swore the swifts never came down. They ate and drank and slept on the wing, he said, and only landed to nest under the eaves of the old cider barn at Hollins Farm, where the orchard ended and the hedge began. Every August he stood at the gate and counted them the way other men counted sheep. This year there were fewer. I told him so and he grunted, which was his way of agreeing.

On the last Saturday we found one caught in the netting between the Bramleys, one wing folded back at a hard angle where the mesh had wrapped it. Walter wanted to cut the net and be done with it. I held the bird against my chest while he worked the blade slow and careful, and its heart went like a sewing machine under my palm. When the last strand gave, it sat in my hands for a long moment, then pushed off my fingers and climbed straight up past the gutter of the barn.

I watched it until it was only a notch against the white cloud, a shape as black and plain as a full stop. Walter went back to counting. I found the one dark feather it had left on my sleeve and pressed it flat inside the cover of my notebook, beside the total I had got wrong twice and then, for once, right.