Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Small pine tree on the inner forearm
Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
A small black tattoo of a stylised pine tree, made of stacked chevron branches above a single vertical stem, sits on the inner forearm near the wrist. The linework is thin and even with no shading, and the ink is solid black against pale skin. The composition is a close crop showing the arm, a white vest top and part of the chin and lips, with the tattoo in the lower centre of the frame.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Mind the pot, Tobias, it's still spitting, and stop staring at the clock. Sit down and peel those onions properly, because this is the story about the pine that wasn't there, and I will not tell it twice.
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Forty winters back, my grandfather ran the Mairi Ann out of Stornoway with a cook's knife in his belt and a bad habit of drawing on everything. He had a notion that a tree could be a compass. Every pine on the ridge above Ness grew bent away from the sea, so he drew one on the wheelhouse glass in chalk, its branches stacked like the chevrons on a sergeant's sleeve, one stem pointing straight up at the sky. Any man who looked at it knew which way was north of the rocks.
The autumn fog came down so thick you could not see your own bow. Donald at the wheel swore the glass was ghosting and the chalk had washed off in the spray. Then Fergus, the youngest, climbed up with a wet rag and scrubbed, and there was the pine under the grime, pointing the way through. We came out past the stake with the sea breaking white on both sides and the gulls screaming somewhere we couldn't see.
So when you ask why I keep that tree scrubbed clean, that is why. Now the onions.
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