Close photo of a small fine line swallow tattoo in grey ink on the upper chest near the collarbone, beside a blue top strap held by a finger with red nail varnish.

Small swallow tattoo on the upper chest

Fine line · Chest · Black and grey · Photo

A small swallow in mid-flight is drawn in thin black linework with light grey shading on the wing and body. The tattoo sits on the upper chest near the collarbone, with plenty of empty skin around it. The blue fabric strap and a hand with red nail varnish frame the right side of the image, and the background is a plain pale wall.

Fine line Chest Swallow Bird

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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 Tamsin, The snow shut the pass on Thursday, so the carrier has not come and we are three days cut off from Keld with nobody to blame but the weather. This morning a swallow came in through the taproom shutter, which I did not know they were fool enough to do in January.

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It sits on the brass rail above the fire now, feathers puffed like a thimble of wool, and it has not sung once. Mr Abney says it is a dead bird's ghost and wants it thrown on the midden. Old Ruthie Cole, who has been coming in for her gin since before the old Queen died, says swallows always know when the weather will turn, and that a bird this late is only waiting for a reason to go. I have set a saucer of crumbs and a dish of warm milk on the flagstones and tried not to look at it too often.

Last night I went down to lock up and found the bird on the sill, right in the lamp's glow, turning its head to watch the snow. I eased the shutter open a crack and the cold came in like a tide. It did not hesitate. It dropped, caught the wind off the moor, and went low over the frozen beck towards the south-west, where the sky had gone the colour of a bruise fading to yellow.

This morning there was one grey feather caught in the latch. I have put it in the tin with Father's letters. Come at Easter if the road is open, and bring the good scissors. The fire is low and I am writing with my coat on. Your loving sister, Hester.