Small fine line black feather tattoo on the inner upper arm of a woman with long hair, with her arm raised.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small feather on an upper arm

Fine line · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A small, delicate feather is drawn in thin black linework on the inner upper arm of a woman whose arm is raised behind her head. The quill runs diagonally and the feather has light, sketched detail with some soft shading. The image is warm and dimly lit, with a blurred room and a bowl of objects in the background.

Fine line Upper arm Feather

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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

Dear Tom, the geese have gone south of the top field and the yard is full of frost that won't lift before noon. Dad says I am to stop writing you letters I can't post, since the post van only comes Tuesdays and the lane is blocked again where the hedge came down. So I'm writing anyway and keeping them in the tin with your old school reports.

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Yesterday I found a feather in the cart shed, a long grey one from the wild goose that's been circling the lower pond since Michaelmas. It had caught on the splintered edge of the hay door, the quill still stiff, the barbs fanned out as if someone had combed them with their fingers. I brought it in and put it on the windowsill beside the marmalade jar, and Mum asked whether I meant to sew it into a hat. I said no. I didn't tell her I was waiting for the thaw so I could take it down to the beck and see if it floats.

Here is the thing I haven't told anyone. Grandad used to say a feather in winter is a message from whoever went first, and you have to answer it before the wind takes it. I don't believe that, obviously. But I've been thinking about what I'd say back, and the only honest answer I've got is that the field is still ours, the gate still sticks, and you should come home for lambing whether or not the bank sends its letters.

Anyway. The feather is still on the sill. I'll drop it in the beck when the ice goes, and if it gets past the mill wheel I'll take that as your reply.

Love, Nell