Close-up of a small fine line tattoo of a stretching figure in a yoga-like pose on the side of a person's torso, above a striped waistband.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Stretching figure tattoo on the side

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A single continuous black line outlines a stylised figure in a stretched, yoga-like pose, with an arm reaching forward and a head turned to one side. The linework is thin and even, and the ink is solid black with no shading or tonal fill. The small design sits against plain pale skin on the side of the torso, with the top edge of a striped garment at the bottom of the frame.

Fine line Ribs Figure Line drawing

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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 fire's only half a fire this time of year, so put your back to the chimney breast. Right. Now the cat. You'll have seen the cat, the grey one with one ear folded like a letter nobody opened. Her name was Thimble, and she was not a cat who hurried for anybody.

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Every morning in the January of the great snow, Thimble woke on the flagstones by the range and did the same thing. She went down into herself first, belly to the warm slate, then rose up the back legs by inches, spine bowing like a bow drawn by a patient man. Last of all she shot one front paw out across the floor, as if she meant to take hold of the day before it could leave. Old Mr Pryce swore she was saying good morning to the frost on the window. My mother said she was reminding the house it had been asleep too long.

The winter the drifts reached the top of the gate, the farm was nearly lost. The ewes lambed early and wrong, the pump froze solid, and Mr Pryce sat at the kitchen table with his cap in his hands and said the place would have to go to the bank come spring. Nobody answered him. Thimble got up off the flags, stretched long and slow, and walked the length of the kitchen to where the back door rattled in its frame. She reached up one paw and laid it flat against the wood, the way you'd lay a hand on a horse that's about to bolt.

The next morning the wind had turned. I don't say it was the cat. I say the cat knew the wind before we did, and that's a different thing entirely, and the older you get the more you'll see the difference.