Black line drawing of a swirled cloud with hanging teardrop raindrops on a brown textured background, shown as a tattoo design sketch.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Swirled cloud with hanging raindrops

Black and grey · Flash

A hand-drawn cloud built from dense curling swirls sits at the top of the image, with a row of teardrop shapes hanging below it on thin lines. The raindrops are filled with concentric curved lines, and the whole design is drawn in black ink. It sits centred on a warm brown, mottled background with no body part visible.

Cloud Raindrop Rain Swirl Teardrop

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Gwen Pritchard had kept the rain book at Tylorstown for thirty-one years, and the colliery had never once come knocking on a Sunday. So when the rap sounded on her cottage door at seven, with the kettle still cold and the lamp still lit, she knew it was Ifan Morgan before she saw his cap, and she knew it was about the cloud.

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"It's sat on the tips again," he said, turning the cap in both hands. "Three days of it. The sump's brimming and the boys won't go down until someone gives them the figures." She took the oilskin from its hook, the one that smelled of coal dust and wet dog, and followed him up the lane with the rain coming sideways like thrown grit. Each drop struck her hat brim with a sound like a fingernail on tin.

At the gauge house she turned the key on the cabinet and lifted out the copper funnel. The bottle beneath it was half full of brown water. She poured it into the measuring glass, read the line, and wrote the number in the ledger in the same looping hand her mother had used, pressing the date hard so it would show through the page. Ifan asked how bad. Gwen said bad enough, and kept her eyes on the glass.

Outside, the rain thinned for a breath. A single drop hung from the lip of the funnel, swelling and holding, the way the big ones did before they let go. She watched it fall and strike the bottle with a small clean note, and she made one more mark in the margin, a tally stroke, the kind her father used to chalk on the lamp board when a man came up safe.