Small black fine line tattoo of two loops, a cross shape and a long downward triangle on the lower leg near the knee.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small line symbol on a leg

Fine line · Calf · Black and grey · Photo

A small black tattoo of two open loops joined to a cross-like form, with a long narrow triangle hanging below. The linework is thin and even, with no shading or fill. The tattoo is shown in close, slightly angled view on a bare leg, with the background dark and out of focus.

Fine line Calf Symbol Loop Cross Triangle Line drawing

Find an artist for this

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

The night the fog came down over Marrowby Junction, you were the only one who could still read the board. Old Haskell had gone home with his chest, and the relief lad was asleep on the sack bench with his cap over his eyes, so it fell to you to walk the length of the platform with the hand lamp, checking the points one by one. Every switch had its own small iron voice, a clank and a sigh under your boot.

Keep reading

Near the end of the down line you found the signal lamp that had been swinging loose on its bracket since teatime. Its two brass rings had worn thin where the chain ran through them, and the crossbar beneath had split at one end, so the whole thing hung like a bird with a broken wing. The glass was cracked but whole. The pointed tail still showed the faded red that once told drivers which road was theirs. You climbed the ladder with a spanner between your teeth.

Halfway up, the fog thinned and a goods train came rolling through beneath you, its lamps smeared gold, and for a moment the valley lay open: the viaduct, the silver line of the canal, a single window lit in the terraces. You tightened the last bolt and let the lamp swing true. It caught the train's light and threw it back along the track, like a message passed hand to hand.

When you came down, the relief lad was awake and staring up at the lamp. 'Right as rain,' he said. You didn't tell him the crossbar would need replacing by morning. You signed the book, turned the wick up, and listened to the far-off rattle of wheels, because somewhere out in the murk a driver was counting the rings and trusting the road was clear.