Watercolour-style hummingbird tattoo in pink, blue, yellow and green on the side of a ribcage.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Watercolour hummingbird on the side ribs

Ribs · Colour · Photo

A hummingbird in mid-flight faces right, with its long beak, outstretched wings and tail-like feathers drawn in soft, blended washes. Black speckles and fine dark outlines define the wing edges and the body, while the colour fades into the skin in places. The bird sits diagonally across the frame against a plain skin background, with a grey fabric edge at the lower left.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mind the guy ropes, the cold's come up off the field and I've only the one lantern. Right, where was I? Ah, the hummingbird. Forty years ago the Marvell Brothers' show was down to three wagons and a tent with more patches than canvas, and the only act still paying its way was Dora Fenn, who painted her face and sat in a glass box twelve hours a day pretending to be a wonder.

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One wet morning a bird came in under the flap, no bigger than a thimble, and hung in the air over her box as though it had read the bills. Dora had never seen one close. Nobody in Ashby had. Its back was green as a bottle, its throat the pink of a boiled sweet, and every feather looked as if someone had dropped watercolours onto it and let them run before they dried. The clowns swore it was a trick. The strongman swore it was a trick with a wire. Only Dora kept still enough for it to settle on her finger, and she said afterwards that it weighed less than the rain on her sleeve.

The Brothers sold the bird to a dealer from Leicester for the price of a new canvas. Dora watched him cage it. That night she cut the cord, opened the tent flap and stood aside, and the little thing went straight up through the smoke of the lamps and out over the hedges, and she thought, well, that's that.

But it came back the next evening, and the evening after, and each time it hung in the air beside the nail on the caravan door where she hung her lantern, as if it were waiting to be asked in. The Brothers sold the tent in the autumn. Dora kept the lantern. On still nights, if you stand where the ring used to be, you may see a coloured thing hover over the grass a moment, looking for a box that isn't there any more, and then off it goes towards the sea. Mind the step on your way out.

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