Snowflakes on a shoulder
Fine line · Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo
A woman is photographed from behind against a plain white background, with a thick grey braid falling down her back. A cluster of snowflakes in soft grey linework and light shading sits on her shoulder and upper back, with several larger flakes and smaller scattered ones. The tattoo is in black ink and greys, and the composition is simple and evenly lit.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Dear Sal, the ice came in on Tuesday night, while Dad was still banging the coal stove to keep it alight. By morning the cut at Corran had gone white from bank to bank and the Mary Ellen sat in it like a loaf in a tin. I walked the towpath to the lock with the ice bar over my shoulder, and every step cracked the snow to glass underneath.
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It kept snowing all day, the big slow flakes that Grandad used to catch on his cuff and hold under the lamp. You remember his rule, that no two are ever the same. I tried it this morning on the sleeve of my coat and got six, each one a little different, the arms bent by the wind as they came down. I counted them twice to be sure. Dad says I'm soft in the head for counting snow, but he stood at the gate with me anyway until the lock keeper came out to see what we were doing.
You asked whether I'd come down to Bristol for Easter. I've been looking at the calendar on the cabin wall, the one with the lighthouse, and I can't decide. The thaw is supposed to come with a south-westerly, and Dad says if it breaks clean we'll take the boat down on the first high water. He hasn't said whether he means to come too. He's been out on the bank since dinner, talking to the ice as if it might answer him.
I'll keep this short because my fingers are going. Tell Mum the stove is fine. I've saved the best-shaped flake I could find in the tin with Grandad's pencil stubs, though it'll be water by the time the post gets there. Come up or I'll come down. Your sister, Jess.
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