Small colour dragonfly tattoo with teal, blue and yellow wings on the top of a foot, above a flip flop strap.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small dragonfly tattoo on top of a foot

Fine line · Other · Colour · Photo

A small dragonfly sits on the top of a bare foot, with its body and long legs drawn in fine dark lines. The wings are filled with soft teal, blue and yellow-green shading, and the tattoo occupies a small area in the centre of the frame. The foot wears a beige flip flop and the hem of a denim garment is visible above it.

Fine line Other Dragonfly Insect Wing

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The dragonfly came aboard off the Cape Verde islands, three days after the wind quit us, and it settled on the brass rail by the binnacle as if it had paid for the passage. Mrs Okafor, our cook, swore it was a bad sign. Old Tully said the opposite, that a dragonfly only goes where there is still water, and so we must be nearer land than we could see. He was right about the water. By noon the sea had gone the colour of pewter and the ropes ticked against the mast like a clock nobody had wound.

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I was the youngest hand, so the job of keeping the creature fed fell to me, though I had nothing to offer it but a crumb of ship's biscuit dipped in tea. It ate nothing. It only turned its head, those bright facets catching the light, teal and gold and a green like new peas. On the fourth morning I found it gone from the rail and a fine dark thread of a leg lying on the wet deck, and I told myself it had flown back to whatever shore it came from.

That evening the breeze came up out of the south-west, and the canvas filled with a sound like a deep breath let out. We raised Madeira by dawn. Tully put his hand on my shoulder at the rail and pointed at a smudge of cloud over the water. It was not cloud. Hundreds of them were lifting and wheeling in the low sun, blue and green and yellow, and he said they had been drifting out to meet the wind the way the old hands always had, and that any one of them might carry a sailor's luck home in its wings. I did not believe him then. I keep that dark thread of a leg pressed flat in my logbook, between the pages for that week.