Woman seen from behind on a sandy beach, with a small black geometric sunburst tattoo between her shoulder blades.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Sunburst tattoo on upper back at the beach

Geometric · Back · Black and grey · Photo

A woman seen from behind sits on a patterned blanket on a sandy beach, with her blonde hair in a ponytail. A small black sunburst design with radiating points sits between her shoulder blades, drawn in solid, fine lines. The image is in soft natural daylight, with the sea and a few distant people blurred in the background.

Geometric Back Sun Sunburst Beach Sea

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

I have opened this bakery at four every morning for eleven years, and in all that time the sun has never once been on time for me. The ovens are roaring while the street is still grey, Mrs Okafor's van idles outside with its sidelights on, and I stand at the back door with a tray of dough, waiting for the light to come through the gap between the bins and the chapel wall. My gran called that gap the window. She said a loaf proves best when the sky is still making up its mind.

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Tomasz from the fish stall came in one wet Tuesday with his sleeves rolled and asked what I was staring at. I told him the sun. He laughed and said the sun comes up whether I watch it or not. I said yes, but it does not come up for the bread. He bought two rye loaves and came back the next day with a sketch on the back of a receipt: a star with twelve stubby points, like a child's idea of heat. He asked if I could bake it into a crust. I said I would only scorch it. He left the paper under the flour tin anyway.

It stayed there a month. One Thursday, with the dough already proving and nothing else to do, I cut the star from the paper with the bread knife, laid it on a tray and pressed it into a round of dough, then scored around each point. The loaf came out dark and split along the lines. When I set it on the wire I looked up and saw the light had finally reached the back wall, a thin bar of gold across the flour sacks.

Tomasz collected his loaf on Friday, saw the scorched star lying on the cooling rack, and laughed so hard he had to sit on the step. I still have the receipt. He never got the sun quite right, and neither have I, but every morning I stand in that gap between the bins and the wall and wait for the light to find the door. When it does, I put the next tray in.