Pencil drawing of a sun and crescent moon sharing a face, surrounded by swirling rays, curls and stars, shown as a design sketch with no body part visible.

Sun and moon face pencil sketch

Black and grey · Flash

A black pencil drawing of a stylised sun with a human face at the centre, overlapping a crescent moon with a profile face on its right side. Wavy rays and spiral curls fill the background, and small stars and swirls trail across the moon. The shading is soft and grainy on a pale paper background, with the composition centred and filling the frame.

Sun Moon Face Swirl Star Celestial Spiral

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The frost has got into the water trough again, so you are breaking it with the heel of a hoe while the dog watches from the barn door. The sun is already sliding behind the ash trees at half past three, low and orange as a cooling coin, and the moon is up over the south field before the last cow has finished her hay. Your gran always said the two of them had quarrelled over this farm since before there were fences, and that winter was the only season they managed to share the sky without a row.

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You rolled your eyes at the rest of it. The lamp, she said, was kept in the hayloft, a dented brass thing with a wick that never burned out, and whoever carried it up the hill at dusk got to keep the light a little longer. On the coldest evening of that January you climbed the loft ladder with numb fingers, found the lamp exactly where she had said, and felt the metal already warm against your palm, as if someone had been holding it just before you.

When you reached the crest of the top field the sun's face was waiting, flushed and cross, its rays tangled in the blackthorn. The moon hung silver over the silo with its profile turned away, like a neighbour kept waiting at the gate. 'Keep it, then,' the moon said, and you watched its mouth move around the words. 'But the stars need feeding, and you have only the one bucket, and it leaks.'

You stood there until your toes ached, then turned the lamp over in your hands and found it empty of oil and full of something colder that glittered. You tipped it gently over the field. Light spilled down the slope in a scatter of small bright sparks, each settling on the frozen furrows, and the sun, grudgingly, slipped behind the hedge while you walked home in the blue dark with the lamp unlit under your coat.