Black and grey swallow tattoo with a curling tail and small heart, above the script line 'You were given this life because you are strong enough to live it'.

Swallow with quote on skin

Black and grey · Photo

A close-up of a stylised swallow in flight, outlined and shaded in black and grey, with a long tail that curls into a small heart shape. Beneath the bird, a line of black script reads 'You were given this life because you are strong enough to live it'. The soft, slightly warm lighting and tight framing centre the design on the skin.

Bird Swallow Heart Script Quote Wing Tail

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You have told the council twice that the nest under the potting shed eaves is no nuisance, and twice the young man from the planning office has looked at you as though you were the nuisance. Mrs Achterberg next door says swallows bring the drains down. You say nothing to her. You fill the bird bath with rainwater from the butt, sit on the upturned crate beside the runner beans with your flask, and wait for the pair to come back from Africa, as they have every April since Margaret planted the Albertine roses against the wall.

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The female arrives first, always, a dark blade cutting over the lawn. She inspects the mud cup she built last year, finds a crack where the hail got in, and sets about repairing it with beakfuls of wet clay from the edge of the pond. You watch her work for an hour. Her tail forks out behind her, long and streaming, and when she perches on the fence post you can see how the outer feathers curl at the tips, as if someone had drawn a heart at the end of a sentence and then decided not to finish it.

By June the nest holds four open mouths. You have been counting the days on the back of a seed packet, the way Margaret used to with her sweet peas. On the twelfth morning one chick has wedged itself over the lip of the cup and sits on the windowsill, feathers half grown and too stubborn to be cross. You lift it back with a fingertip and press the mud rim up around it, feeling foolish and tender at once.

By the last week of July the nest is empty and quiet, and you find yourself standing under the eaves with the rake still in your hand. Four shapes cut across the lawn at once, low over the beans, tails flicking. Mrs Achterberg calls over the fence that the drains will be fine now. You tell her they were always going to be fine, and you watch the birds climb toward the chimney until they are only a few quick marks against the sky.