Small black fine line sun tattoo with radiating rays on a forearm, with a grey fluffy top and a green metal chair in the background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Sun tattoo on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small sun with a partly shaded circular centre and thin radiating rays is drawn in black ink on the forearm. The linework is delicate and fairly uniform, with a few short dashes scattered beside the rays. The skin is pale and the photo is warm and natural, with the person's grey fluffy top and an ornate green metal chair filling the rest of the frame.

Fine line Forearm Sun Ray

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lock-keeper at Bromsgrove said the sun was sulking, and Mab Corrie believed him because the water was black and the willows dripped without wind. Her father had brought the Jenny Wren into the basin the night before and gone to bed on the cabin bench without a word about the cold. She knew the old saying: the sun had a half-face, and when it turned away from the canal it took a little of the warmth with it.

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She walked the towpath with a tin of matches under her arm until she reached the bend where the herons stood. Under a hawthorn sat a grey heron the size of a child, perched on a stone, and the stone was the sun itself, cracked across its middle, its rays knocked loose and lying in the reeds like broken wire. "You took the light," she said. The heron opened its beak and a thin dry voice came out, asking whether she had brought the matches.

They struck their bargain on the top gate of the lock. Mab would light the stove for three nights running, and the heron would gather each ray in its bill and lay it back where it belonged. By the third dawn the rays stood out thin and bright over the water, and spray leapt off the weir like sparks. The heron took the last ray, folded its wings, and walked into the reeds without thanks.

Her father woke to a barge full of sun. He pressed his palm to the warm rail and laughed, and he did not ask what she had paid, which was the old way. Mab kept one spent match in her coat pocket. Some grey mornings she held it up to the light and saw the faint lines still in the wood, thin as hairs, and she carried it with her like a small promise.