Small black fine line mountain range tattoo on the neck just behind a person's ear, photographed from the side.

Small mountain range behind the ear

Fine line · Neck · Black and grey · Photo

A small black tattoo of a jagged mountain range sits on the skin behind the ear, with peaks rendered in sketchy, broken linework. The ink is solid black with no visible colour, and the design is kept tight and simple. The ear and light red hair frame the tattoo, which is shown in soft, warm natural light.

Fine line Neck Mountain Mountain range Silhouette

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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

Now sit down, the lot of you, and mind the windfalls, because I'm only telling this once before the light goes off the top of the ridge. You see that line over the hedge there, all teeth and broken strokes, like someone ran a hand saw across the sky? That's the Crooked Tops. My grandfather planted these trees the year they finished the road, and every harvest since, the men in this valley have looked up at those peaks and said they could walk to them by Sunday.

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There was a lad called Tomas Wrenfield who worked the orchard the summer I was nine. He had a pocket knife, a tin of biscuits and a notion that the ridge was close enough to touch if a person only kept walking east. So one morning in late August he left the ladder leaning against the Bramley and went off down the lane. He came back at dusk with his boots split and his face scratched red, and he sat on the crate where I'm sitting now and didn't say a word for an hour.

Eventually I asked him what the mountains were like. He turned his hand over and looked at his palm for a long time. 'Just stones,' he said. 'Grey stones and wind. Nothing up there looks like anything from up close.' I thought that was the saddest thing I'd ever heard. Then he took a whole apple from my basket, bit into it, and pointed at the far ridge, which had gone purple in the dusk, its peaks sharp as the edge of a blade.

He went back to the trees the next morning and never walked east again. The ridge keeps its shape only while you stand where you are and look at it, and Tomas knew that better than most. Now, the windfalls, quickly, before the wasps find them.