Black fine line snowflake and the words let it go in script tattooed on a forearm, with a hand holding a glass of drink on a floral blanket.

Snowflake and let it go on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small black snowflake sits beside the handwritten words let it go in a thin, script-style lettering on the inside of a forearm. The linework is fine and even, with no shading, and the ink is solid black against the skin. The arm and tattoo fill the lower right of the frame, with a glass mug in the other hand, a turquoise floral blanket and grass in the background.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Snowflake Script Word

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The harbour froze the week my uncle's boat was overdue from the Dogger grounds. By Tuesday the basin had gone the colour of pewter, with a skin of snow sitting on the ice like icing on a cold cake, and the gulls walked about on it as if they owned the place. Dad stood on the wall with his flask and said the Mary Ann would come in when the sea let her, and there was nothing to be gained by stamping about. I had the boathook in my hands and a plan to break a channel to the mouth. He took it off me gently and leaned it against the bollard.

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Mrs Pell, who had kept the harbour log for forty years, found me on the steps that evening with my cheeks burning. She had a ledger open on her knee, and in the margin of every hard winter she had drawn a single snowflake, six arms, careful as a clockmaker's work. Beside the one for 1963 she had written in pencil: Pushed hard, lost the lot. Beside the next she had written only the words let it go, underlined twice. I asked what she meant. She said the ice didn't care how hard you pushed, it only cared how tightly you held on.

The thaw came on Thursday with a wind from the south-west, and the ice groaned and split into long grey plates. The Mary Ann came round the breakwater at four o'clock, low in the water, her mainsail torn to ribbons and my uncle at the tiller with one hand raised. We were already on the wall to catch her lines. I didn't mention the boathook to Dad. I just watched the ice slide off the pilings, slow and unhurried, and I let it go.