Traditional style tattoo of two red cardinals with pink blossom and green leaves on the upper thigh, outlined in black.

Two cardinals with blossom on thigh

Traditional · Thigh · Colour · Photo

The tattoo shows two red cardinals on branches, one facing left and one facing right, with pink five-petal blossoms and teal-green leaves. Bold black outlines define the birds and foliage, with solid red and pink fills and simple shading on the feathers. The design fills the upper thigh and sits on a pale skin background, with a tartan blanket and grey fabric around the edges of the frame.

Traditional Thigh Bird Blossom Flower Leaves Branch

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The feeder had been empty since Tuesday, and you knew it was your turn to fill it, because Dan had done it on Sunday and your mother's rule, written on the fridge, was that whoever found the frost first had the scoop. The frost had come in the night. It lay on the yard fence like sugar, and the barn roof had turned the colour of wet slate. You pulled your boots on over two pairs of socks and went out with the sack of sunflower seed under your arm, not looking at the kitchen window, where you knew Dan would be standing with his coffee, pretending not to watch.

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The cardinals arrived before you did. A cock bird sat on the quince branch by the gate, bright as a dropped cherry against the white, and his hen was lower down in the hawthorn, the colour of a faded Christmas card. The quince had flowered out of season back in August, and your mother had sworn it meant something she never bothered to name. Dan said it was just the tree being stupid. You tipped the seed into the tray and stepped back, and the male dropped onto the feeder without once looking at you.

When you turned around, Dan was at the fence with the second scoop in his hand. Neither of you had said the word auction since the lawyer's letter. His wife had gone back to Columbus in October. You had stayed because somebody had to keep the pipes from bursting, and he had stayed because he could not face selling the place yet. The birds were sorting it out between them, the hen flying the length of the yard in a flurry of husks until she landed on the post right beside him.

"She wants the seed," he said, not quite smiling. You held out your hand for the scoop, and he gave it to you, and for the first time since the funeral neither of you let go at once.