Black line drawing of an umbrella with four raindrops falling beneath it on a plain white background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Umbrella with raindrops line design

Black and grey · Flash

A simple black outline drawing of an open umbrella with a scalloped canopy, a central pole and four teardrop-shaped raindrops below. The linework is even and bold with no shading. The design is centred on a plain light background with generous empty space around it.

Umbrella Raindrop Rain

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lost property box at the depot held forty-one umbrellas by the first Tuesday in November, and every one of them was black, because nobody in Leeds buys a bright one twice. I was the only night clerk who bothered to open it after eleven. So when the last tram rattled in with its lights off, I was the one holding the wet umbrella that nobody had claimed.

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It had a tag tied to the handle, the sort you write on with a biro, and the name had rubbed to a blue smudge. The canopy was scalloped at every seam, and water gathered at the tips of the ribs and let go in slow drops. I hung it on the hook by the kettle. Four drops fell onto the lino, evenly spaced, and I stood there watching them dry as if they were something I ought to remember.

At two o'clock a woman came to the hatch in a coat with no hood and didn't bother to knock on the glass. She described the umbrella before I could say a word: the pole that ran straight as a ruler, the way the canopy leaned when the wind caught it, the chip on the third rib. She didn't ask for it by name. She asked whether it had stopped raining on Wellington Street yet. I told her no. She said then I should keep it, and she walked off into the orange haze without opening anything.

I kept it on the hook. Every night since, the drops gather at the same four points and fall onto the same four squares of floor, and I have stopped mopping them up. The depot manager calls it a shrine. I just call it the umbrella that never gets opened.