Black and grey swallow tattoo on the top of a bare foot on a carpet, with a smaller swallow tattoo on a second pair of feet further back.

Swallow tattoos on two feet

Other · Black and grey · Photo

Two bare feet rest on a beige carpet, and a large black and grey swallow in flight is tattooed across the top of the front foot. Behind, a seated person's legs and feet show a smaller grey swallow on the top of one foot. The shading is soft and the composition places the foreground tattoo at the centre of the frame.

Other Swallow Bird Feet Leg

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The rain had come in off the estuary before dawn and settled on Quayside Market as if it meant to stay. Tom Hale pushed his barrow between the fish stalls, past trays of wet mackerel and a bucket of crabs clicking against its lid, and stopped under the iron canopy where Ruth Pennock had her pitch. She was already wrapping hake in newspaper.

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"Swallows again," she said, nodding at the rafters. "Three of them. They've been nesting in that corner since March."

He looked up. A mud cup clung to the girder above the scales, and a bird sat in it with its feathers flattened by wet, watching him with one black eye. He had sailed twenty-two years under the same swallow, inked into the skin of his own hand, one bird for every ocean crossing in the old trawler Marigold, and he had never once seen one come home on purpose. "They're not meant to fly in the rain," he said. "Their wings go heavy."

Ruth snorted and handed him a tea in a chipped mug. "Then you'll have to keep the roof on for them, won't you." She climbed the stepladder with a strip of tarpaulin and a roll of gaffer tape, and he held the ladder while she worked, water running off the brim of his cap. When she came down, the nest sat under a neat tent of blue plastic, and the swallow had turned its head to watch them both.

Tom wheeled the barrow out into the grey but did not go far. He stood by the iron pillar until the bird dropped from the rafters, skimmed the wet cobbles, and rose over the harbour wall towards open water, its forked tail cutting the rain like shears. Ruth called him a daft old fool. He didn't argue. The boats were all in, and he had nowhere to be but here.