Two hands with black and grey tattoos on the backs: a star with a crescent moon on the left hand and a dotted geometric pattern with maze motifs on the right.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Star and crescent moon, and geometric pattern on hands

Geometric · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

Two hands are shown palm down, side by side, with a black and grey tattoo on the back of each. The left hand carries a radiating star with a crescent moon at its centre, built from solid black points and grey shaded facets. The right hand shows a diamond-shaped geometric panel of dotted and stippled borders, with interlocking maze-like motifs and grey shading inside.

Geometric Dotwork Hand Star Crescent moon Mandala Geometric pattern Hand

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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

Sit closer, the stove only warms this side of the room, and mind the dog, he thinks every story is about him. The winter Aldous Pine lost the lower field to the river, his sister Mirren came up the lane with a sack of seed potatoes and a pattern she had copied off a ceiling in the church at Hollin Cross. It was a square of dots and crosses, stitched small as lice, folding in on itself so you could walk the lines with a finger and never come out where you started. She said the maze was a way of keeping the frost in its place.

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Aldous laughed at her, then went out to the barn and drew it on his palm with a burnt cork, because a man who laughs at his sister has to prove he was listening. The star he drew on the other hand was for the night the lamp blew out in the byre and the calf came anyway, with nobody holding a light. Mirren sat with the cow while he ran for the vet. When he came back, the lantern glass lay in the straw in a crescent, cracked clean through, and the star above the door had gone dark as a bad tooth.

She told him to keep the moon in his hand, so he would always know where the night was thinnest. He kept it there the rest of his days, and the maze too, though his knuckles got stiff and the cork lines blurred into the grain of his skin. The potatoes came up that spring in rows nobody planted, and the lower field gave a crop the river had no claim to.

I have walked that maze with my finger more times than I can count, and I have never once found the field. Mind, I never looked hard. The frost hasn't been in any hurry to find me either. Now, who's going to fetch more coal before the dog eats the shovel?